


Brotherhood of Shadow

by Cordelia69, Skep



Series: MusketShadow [1]
Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia69/pseuds/Cordelia69, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skep/pseuds/Skep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Louis XIII's Paris there operates a team created to protect King, Country and... Shadow World.</p>
<p>When the Musketeers discover that Rochefort is determined to wipe out all nobility, mundane and Nephilim, and replace them with creatures of his choosing alliances are born and friendships are built as our heroes work to defeat a most dangerous enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

They stand watching the scene, the “woman” already gone, and Athos, leaving behind his locket, is walking away from them. Porthos follows him with his eyes, knowing that his friend needs some time alone but not so much. He knows there's something off with all what happened there, he saw it in Athos' eyes when he saw that “woman”. He recognized disbelief and pain but there are other emotions in him and Porthos needs to know what they are.

Aramis steps ahead, starting to follow Athos, but Porthos stops him. “I'll go. You and D'Artagnan take Madame Bonacieux home, her husband will be worried,” he says, looking at the woman in D'Artagnan's arms.

Aramis tries to protest in vain. Porthos shakes his head, knowing that his brother’s intentions are good but he'll make a mess of it. Aramis sighs and follows D'Artagnan to Bonacieux's house. 

Satisfied, Porthos runs after Athos, catching him just outside the garrison.

“We need to talk,” he says once he's next to Athos. 

“Of course,” he says, resigned.  

They heading for Athos' lodgings and once inside Porthos starts to questioning him.

“Who was that monster? And why do you know her?” 

Athos flinches, closing his eyes.

“So? Who was that monster?” Porthos approaches him. 

“Don't call her like that,” Athos whispers. 

“What?” Porthos, visibly startled, asks. 

“Don't call her like that,” Athos says, this time louder. 

“Why I can't call a bloody vampire a monster?” Porthos doesn't know why Athos is reluctant to address that type of Downworlder for what they are. 

“She's what?” Now Athos is surprised. 

“She's a vampire, Athos. Don't tell me you didn't notice.” This conversation is getting complicated. 

“No... no, I think I was too shocked to notice it,” Athos whispers again. 

“It's alright, you know that I see these things before you, maybe it's because of where I come from,” Porthos puts a hand on Athos' shoulder, comforting him. 

They fall silent. Porthos, now with both his hands on Athos' shoulders, while he's bowing his head and looking at his feet. 

When the silence is too much Porthos sighs, directing Athos to the bed, sitting him on the narrow cot. He takes his place next to his brother and then he waits.

He counts to ten and then he sighs again and starts.

“So, you knew her?” He tries not to say something that could upset him.  

“She was my wife.” He knows he needs to tell somebody sooner or later or he'll go crazy, and Porthos is the right person. 

“What are you talking about?” Porthos doesn't expect that. 

“She was my wife,” he repeats, not knowing what to say next.  

“And she was a vampire back then?” Porthos doesn't know how to proceed. 

“No, she was a mundane,” he murmurs. It's worse than Porthos thought. 

“Alright... And what happened to change her from a mundane to a vampire?” He doesn't know why Athos was married to a mundane.  

“I killed her,” Athos now is folding on himself. 

Porthos knows he needs to choose his next words carefully.

“I think you did it because you had to, right?” 

Athos nods, scrunching up his nose. "It's my duty to uphold the law." 

This doesn't explain anything. Porthos tries again.

“What did she do for you to uphold the law?” he uses the same words on purpose. 

“She killed my brother,” he exhales. 

Still the information isn’t clear. Porthos needs answers and he needs them now.

“Athos, I know this could be painful, but I need to know how she came from murdering your brother to became a vampire. And please, I need everything if I am going to be able to help you,” he says at last.  

“I don't know how she became a vampire, but I know that she killed my brother and then I had to do something,” he says, playing with his hands. “It was my duty... my duty...” Athos whispers over and over.  

Porthos puts a hand on his back, rubbing it. It's enough for now. He won't upset his brother further. 

“It's alright, Athos, don't worry. I'm here if you want to talk, I'm not going anywhere,” he says slowly. Athos slides against him and he stays like that for a while, with Porthos' arm around him.  

When he's calm enough he stands up, a little smile on his face and, striding to the table, he pours a glass of wine for him and one for Porthos. The big musketeer accepts it without second thoughts and he sees that Athos is drinking his second glass. He lets him do it, knowing that his brother needs all the strength the wine can give him to face the rest of the day at least.

They drink in companionable silence until a knock on the door startled them. A musketeer informs them that the Captain wants to see both in five minutes. They head for the office expecting a lecture about something they did, but instead the Captain seems relaxed when they enter the room. 

“Oh good, you're here. I need the both of you to investigate a contraband of yin fen. Some werewolf were found under the effects of that damned powder and I want you to find who brought it into Paris and who is selling it. Do I make myself clear?” Treville doesn't even let them stand completely in front of him.  

“Yes, Captain,” they respond together.  

He nods. “Dismissed,” he waves that the conversation is over and that they can leave. Athos already has a hand on the handle when the Captain speaks again. 

“Ah, Athos, I'm leaving for a few days, so you'll be in command,” he explains. 

“Yes, Captain.” Athos nods and follow Porthos outside the door. 

\----------------------------------------------

Aramis thinks it is a little bit odd that Captain Treville has left Athos in charge of the garrison just now. It makes sense that the Musketeers are needed to carry a letter from King Louis to the Bishop of Marseille, normal mundane tasks that are a cover for the work they really do as Children of Raziel. But, at any other time, Treville would remain at the garrison and entrust Athos and Porthos with the letter. Aramis supposes that it makes sense for the commander to go out in the field with D’Artagnan to see how he does on one of his first missions. There is also the frostiness between D’Artagnan and Athos that still lingers after the boy seemed to mistakenly blame Athos for what he had to explain about what had to happen to his father. Maybe this was a cooling off period before things got harder. Maybe Treville’s decision wasn’t odd at all.

“We’ll camp here for tonight,” Treville announces, pulling Aramis from his thoughts and reining in his horse as they reach a clear, fast stream. “We’ll water the horses, rest for the night, and ride again at dawn.”

D’Artagnan leaps gracefully off his horse, hardly seeming to even need to stretch his legs. “I can get them water and find a patch of grass for them to graze, Captain.”

Aramis does not miss the smirk on his captain’s face at the boy’s eagerness as he dismounts, and he does the same, handing the reins to the boy. “Don’t put her between the other two,” he warns, “she fights if she’s surrounded while drinking.”

“He is not lying,” Treville says when D’Artagnan gives him a look clearly meant to ask if this was some sort of trick by an older musketeer. “That horse is fine surrounded by others in battle but put her between two at the watering place and it’s like she’s possessed.”

D’Artagnan still looks a little disbelieving but he leads the three horses away, Aramis’ on the outside.

“He’s awfully eager to please after riding into us like his boots were on fire and it was our fault,” Aramis comments as he walks around to collect kindling for a fire.

“Can you really blame him?” Treville says, gathering stones for a firepit. “The boy didn’t know what he was until the attack on his home and his father being forced to tell him to kill him. If Athos hadn’t been nearby, as much an unknown as the demon who infected his father, D’Artagnan might not be here now.”

“Well, I hope he calms down some. You know Athos doesn’t like perky, energetic people who vaguely seem to be questioning his honor.”

“It isn’t a question of honor, Aramis, it’s a question of duty.” Treville crouches beside him as they work together to build the fire. “The sooner D’Artagnan realizes, as you and Athos and Porthos have, that it is his duty to fight beside us to protect the mundane world from demons and Downworlders, the better off he will be. He is a smart boy, he will realize it soon.”

His captain has a point and Aramis is smart enough to admit it. “Are you still thinking of sending him to the Institute in Geneva?”

“No.” Treville leans back to let Aramis start the fire. “I am thinking that Athos needs a _parabatai_.”

Startled, Aramis lets his sash be too close to the flame and it catches fire. Treville steps on it to put it out. “Athos needs… D’Artagnan as a _parabatai_? You cannot be serious.”

Treville gives him a tired look and shakes his head. “I am absolutely serious. Do you not agree that D’Artagnan needs someone to guide him in this new world?”

“I do agree with that,” he says slowly, “but… why Athos?”

“Athos is the best Shadowhunter in France,” Treville says with a shrug. “Athos is lost without something to do. Being lost makes him a danger to himself. You and Porthos have become near to Athos’ equals so he has nothing to focus on.”

“Other than demon fighting.”

“That is too sporadic, too high and too low, to be enough for him. He will not risk D’Artagnan’s life by doing stupid things with his own. He has already proven that with D’Artagnan.”

Aramis sees the sense in that, because without constant work Athos often does seem intent on a path of self-destruction. Captain Treville’s plan becomes suddenly clear to him. “So it’s a win on all fronts; Athos gets a purpose and job while D’Artagnan gets trained by Athos.”

“Now do you have any objections?” Treville asks as he lights the fire without starting himself on fire.

“Only a cautious worry about the fact that mere days ago D’Artagnan sort of wanted to kill Athos.”

The older man shakes his head. “And nothing has happened since. It will be fine.”

The conversation ends there because D’Artagnan has finished tending to the horses and returns with a pouch full of fresh berries that he found beside the stream. Aramis catches three fish in record time and they eat a simple meal before settling down for the night. It does not escape Aramis’ notice that the captain did not mention the idea of _parabatai_ to D’Artagnan. The conversation centers on the two younger men listening to Captain Treville tell stories of his younger days as a Nephilim warrior.

Aramis’ last thought before he falls asleep is that the trio; he, Athos, and Porthos, will be very much better as a quartet. Maybe Treville knows what he was doing. He hasn’t led them wrong yet, after all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Athos hears the horses as soon as they arrive at the garrison. He comes out of the Captain’s office at the same time Porthos runs down the stairs. Of course he already knew that Aramis is coming back. Athos stands on the balcony, watching the two parabatai greet each other. He watches Porthos and Aramis touch each other’s hearts and then the big musketeer gives him a big hug and then moves to D'Artagnan for another one. Athos waits until Treville is next to him to tell him everything he missed while on mission and then goes to greet his three friends.  
  
“It's good to be home,” Aramis says watching the others.  
  
“It's good to have you home,” Porthos says back.  
  
“Know what? I need a good night out. I think all these days with the Captain are enough to last for a year or two,” he smiles.  
  
“Ehi lad, do you want to come with us?” Porthos asks politely.  
  
“Thanks, but I'm really tired and I think I’ll go home and sleep,” D'Artagnan answers, smiling tiredly. Athos knows how it was the first time you are on a mission, riding all day and sleeping on the hard ground with only your clothes and a thin bedroll between you and the grass, and he understands perfectly how the boy is feeling right now.  
  
“It's alright, D'Artagnan. We see you tomorrow alright?” he says, a little smile on his lips.  
  
The boy nods and, after waving at them he heads for the Bonacieux house.  
  
\-----  
  
They spend the entire evening eating and drinking, talking about nothing and everything. Aramis spends all the dinner recounting the mission and how he looked like the only soldier in it, with D'Artagnan too young and naive and the Captain too used to being in Court.  
  
Athos enjoys the time passed with them but he also knows that Aramis is hiding something from him. Call it a sensation, or the fact that he knows Aramis, but his friend is acting strangely and he wants to know why he's doing it.  
He's too focused on thinking about how to spill it from Aramis that he doesn't notice that his brother is talking about him.  
  
“... and he suddenly mentioned that our Athos needs a parabatai,” Aramis laughs, patting Porthos on the back.  
  
“I, what?” Athos looks at him like the other grew another head in the meantime.  
  
Aramis shuts his mouth as soon as he realizes his mistake and he watches Porthos for help.  
  
“Who said I need a parabatai, Aramis?” The happy moment dissolved in an instant.  
  
“Athos, I think the tavern is not the right place for this conversation. Why don't we move to another place?” Porthos, always the pacifier, is trying to calm Athos, giving Aramis the time to collect himself and explain everything to Athos.  
  
“Alright, but then Aramis will tell me everything!” Athos hisses. He drinks all the wine in his glass and he stands up. “My place,” he adds, taking his hat and leaving the tavern.  
  
He can't believe what he heard. He walks to his lodgings, trying to calm down and not turn back and strangle that idiot of Aramis. When he enters, he leaves the door wide open and while he waits for the other two, he opens a bottle of wine, drinking directly from it. The two musketeers appear some minutes later, Aramis with his eyes fixed on the ground and Porthos with a scowl on his face. It's written on their faces that they talked during the walk and Porthos isn't pleased with what he heard from Aramis, and Athos is sure that he will force every words from his parabatai's mouth if he needs it.  
  
He pours some wine in two glasses and then he resume drinking his from the bottle. He leans against the cupboard waiting. It takes another two glasses and a glare from Porthos to let Aramis talk.  
  
“Treville did it,” he whispers, playing with the edge of the glass, eyes fixing on it.  
  
“Why the hell did he do it? I hope you didn't suggest it,” Athos hisses.  
  
“No, why would I do that? It's Treville's idea to pair you and D'Artagnan,” Aramis squeezes his eyes, biting his lower lip.  
  
“What? D'Artagnan and I parabatai? Please tell me he was drunk,” Athos is confused and angry, and this combination is not good for him.  
  
“No, he wasn't drunk and he was deadly serious about it,” Aramis says simply.  
  
“I don't want to have a parabatai. I don't want to be a parabatai. Especially if the other is D'Artagnan,” he says seriously.  
  
“Why? I know Athos I shouldn't say it, but it's a good idea. It will help D'artagnan to learn and understand our world, his world. And it could help you too,” Porthos suggests, giving Aramis time to regain some of his usual self.  
  
“Me? Help? I don't need help. I don't understand why everyone is fixated to help me. I'm telling you again, I don't need help. I only need someone to watch my back in battle, and for that I have you both.,” He tries to control his anger but he can't fight both if they join to face him.  
  
“Alright, but think about D'Artagnan. He needs someone who can teach him everything about our world and me and Aramis aren't the best choice for that. You are,” Porthos explains.  
  
“No, I'm not. I'm too old and I'm not the right person. He needs a younger parabatai, someone who could understand him and teach him at the same time. I'm not the right person.,” He's trying to let them believe that he's not good for D'Artagnan.  
  
How he can tell them that he could do that, but that he won't do that? How can he explain that he can't let another human being be near him when he could destroy him?  
He's watching Aramis and Porthos looking at each other helplessly. He trusts them with his life and he knows that they trust him with theirs but he can't have a parabatai. Having one would mean that another person would die because of him. It's already hard to know that his two brothers could do anything for him, even die, that he doesn't want to think what would happen if he has a parabatai. He heard about the one who “lives” and he doesn't want that for his. Especially if his is D'Artagnan.  
  
He put the bottle down and he watches the exchange of glances between the two musketeers, Porthos is staring at Aramis with a scowl, the other looking defeated the glass in front of him. He turns, heading for his bedroom.  
  
“Close the door when you leave,” he murmurs.  
  
“Please Athos, tell us that at least you'll think about it,” pleads Aramis.  
  
“I don't know.,” This is a whisper and he doesn't know if they hear it.  
  
As soon as he's in the room, he closes the door and he slips on the ground resting his head against the wood and sighing loudly. It'll be a long, sleepless night.  
  
\-----  
  
When he enters the courtyard the next morning, none of his friends is there. He sits on their usual table and eat a little bit of the breakfast Serge had cooked.  
  
“Athos, my office.,” The voice of the Captain is crystal clear in the quiet morning. He's not sure why the Captain wants him but he has a vague feeling that it involves the parabatai question. Maybe the others came here after leaving him and they told Treville what he said. Or maybe he's only too tired and doesn't think straight. Anyway he leaves the table and runs upstairs.  
  
“Captain, did you want see me?” He steps inside the room.  
  
“Yes, Athos. I think it's time we discuss about a matter of great importance.,” Athos is not sure if he has to hold his breath or a sigh of relief. Great importance doesn't mean exactly the parabatai thing, right?  
  
“I thought a lot about D'Artagnan and if he'll stay here he'll need to train and someone who will teach him about the Shadowhunters. I think there's no one better than you for this task,” Treville explains simply.  
  
“I don't know if I am the right person, Captain, but if you think that I am the only one, I'll do it.,” He doesn't want but it's an order, even if Treville doesn't put like that.  
  
“Good, I knew you'd accept it. And then there is the fact that I thought D'Artagnan will need a parabatai,” he says nonchalantly, looking for and then signing a paper in front of him.  
  
Athos is petrified. He thinks that Treville wouldn't put it so soon after he talked with Aramis, but, instead, he's so certain of the outcome that he doesn't even look at him. Maybe he changed his mind and he's thinking about someone else.  
  
“I agreed. May I suggest some of the other recruits?” he says.  
  
“I don't want two recruits together. I want you and D'Artagnan together, am I clear?” Now Treville is looking at him.  
  
“Captain, I don't think it's a good idea,” he mumbles.  
  
“I don't care if it's a good idea or not. You and the boy will be parabatai, by will or by force. Do you understand?” Treville is standing in front of him, his papers forgotten on the desk.  
  
“But Captain...” he tries again.  
  
“No buts. You will decide yourself or I'll do it. You have a week to chose. Dismissed,” the Captain says turning his back on him.  
  
Athos murmurs a “Yes, Captain” and he heads for the door. In less than ten days will be his 25th birthday and Treville knows that after that he can't pair Athos with another. The law doesn't allow it. He sighs deeply and he opens the door.  
In front of him there's D'Artagnan with no less than the new High Warlock of Paris, Magnus Bane.

\------------------------------------

D’Artagnan is steps away from being outside the garrison when someone shouts his name. He knows it is not Porthos because it is not a friendly shout, he knows it is not Aramis because Porthos’ _parabatai_ acted strangely during the last leg of their trip, and he knows it is not Athos because he does not think Athos knows his name. He turns to see Captain Treville at the top of the steps, beckoning him to come up. Worried that he did something wrong during the mission, which seemed to be a test of his worth at every moment, he climbs the steps slowly. Treville has already gone inside his office so D’Artagnan follows him and stops just inside the door. “Yes, sir?”

“You’ve been with us a few weeks now, D’Artagnan,” Treville says, eyes on the collection of papers in front of him on the desk, “so I’m wondering what you think of us, of Nephilim and Shadowhunters.”

“You are the finest warriors I could ever imagine walking the earth,” he says, grimacing at the way it sounded even to him. “And I mean that honestly, sir.”

Treville makes his face impassive and looks up. “Excellent. Now, we had discussed you going to Geneva to train at the Institute there but, if you are interested in serving the Angel Raziel, I believe it can be worked for you to remain in Paris.”

Thinking of Constance, D’Artagnan agrees immediately to the change in plans. Geneva had been a fine destination until he met her. “I would very much like to remain in Paris, even just in France.”

Treville is not oblivious to the boy’s infatuation with Madame Bonacieux. Constance had, in fact, come to him to admit their relationships and “Good, and you are needed in Paris so that is where you would be, under my command and _parabatai_ with Athos.”

D’Artagnan coughs in surprise and alarm. “I beg your pardon, sir? _Parabatai_ with Athos?”

“Yes. You are aware of what that is, correct?”

“Yes, sir. It is a sacred bond of brotherhood in which the two, who generally choose their own brothers,” he adds, though he’s worried he may be going too far, “and fight as one in battle.”

Treville nods. “We do generally choose our own _parabatai_ , D’Artagnan, but there are times when the more experienced do choose for us.”

D’Artagnan furrows his brow in frustration and confusion. “Yes, Aramis explained all that to me, sir.”

“Then I do not understand the problem.” Treville feels a twinge of guilt for the boy but he must get used to how things work if he is to be successful, and that is part of the reason Treville made this choice for him.

He tries to think of how to put the problem without digging the hole deeper for himself. “Athos, sir… I… has he agreed to this? I don’t think he likes me.”

“He will agree,” Treville says with confidence, “and he does not know you well enough to like you or not, nor you him. That is not what this is about, D’Artagnan. This is about creating the best possible fighting force. You can refuse to accept this, yes, but know that you will be sent immediately to Geneva.”

“I understand, sir,” he says, thinking Treville will respect that more than an immediate decision.

He doesn’t know it, but he is correct. “Good,” Treville says with a nod. “Give me your answer in the morning.”

\-----

D’Artagnan doesn’t sit down at Constance’s house, her husband is in Brussels buying fabrics, until he has told her every detail of his mission and, more importantly, the content of his conversation with Treville. Only when he finishes, a little out of breath and thirsty for the wine she offered him, does he fall into a chair at the table in her kitchen.

The first things she says is that he is overreacting. “Many Nephilim have their _parabatai_ chosen for them, D’Artagnan,” she says as she puts a plate of bread and cheese in front of him. “It is not uncommon.”

“But Athos hates me,” he says, knowing he sounds like a whining child. “He barely acknowledges that I exist and, when he does, he acts like I’ve offended him.”

“Athos acts like the very world has offended him,” she says. “He barely acknowledges that anyone exists. And you are far from the first to think he hates for no reason.”

He throws his hands in the air. “You make this sound like a thing in his favor.”

Constance sighs. “I cannot say what makes Athos act as he does but I can say that he is one of the greatest Shadowhunters in all France, probably the greatest. You will not regret having him for a _parabatai_.”

D’Artagnan knows he will agree to follow orders but a question still appears in his mind, so he says it. “Can a man kill his own _parabatai_?”

She shakes her head. “No. That would be like suicide.”

From the things he’s heard around the garrison and from Porthos, who is more talkative than Aramis, he supposes this is very true. The idea of being forever bound to someone he hardly knows, because Constance does have a point there, and who hardly seems inclined to like him, he will not give up that point, seems like a bad idea on the surface. But maybe it isn’t. D’Artagnan does want to be among the elite Nephilim fighters, and that is in Paris as far as he can see, and everyone at the garrison obviously wants to impress Athos, when they’re not walking on eggshells around him. He decides that perhaps the root of the problem is that he is like everyone else in the garrison and, really, he’s just intimidated by Athos. Maybe the way to get ahead of everyone else and to impress Athos is to accept the challenge.

Constance smiles when he announces that. “I knew you’d calm down if you thought about it,” she says. “Now may we please enjoy our dinner?”

D’Artagnan can’t help but grin as she ladles a thick vegetable soup into bowls. Staying in Paris, being a better Shadowhunter, and getting to be near Constance was the trio of things that could make him happy. And that was all he needed.

\-----

After a night spent tangled in the sheets with Constance, D’Artagnan is a much more relaxed and happier man in the morning when he eats breakfast standing up while he gets ready to return to the garrison. He’s strapping on his pistols when he hears the front door open and a man shout for Constance. D’Artagnan flattens himself against the wall and, though he hopes she will forgive him for eavesdropping, listens as Constance hurries down the stairs and asks someone she calls Magnus what’s wrong.

What D’Artagnan hears makes his mouth hang open in shock and his eyes goes wide. He quickly understands that Magnus is a warlock and that Magnus has valuable information about Rochefort’s plans at Court. He waits until he hears it all, in fear that his appearance will make the warlock run away and wanting to have all the details to tell Captain Treville if that happens, and then he bursts into the front room. “You have to tell all that to Captain Treville,” he blurts out.

The tall man with cat’s eyes gives him a wary look as he takes a step backward to the door. “Who are you and why on earth should I do that?”

“I am D’Artagnan of the Musketeers and Captain Treville is the commander of the Paris garrison,” he says firmly. “I cannot say what our mission is but you, sir, have vital information about it and you need to report it to Captain Treville.”

“I do not need to do anything I do not wish to do,” Magnus says sharply. “Constance, what company are you keeping since I saw you last?”

“He’s telling the truth, Magnus,” she says, her hand on his arm, “about all of it. He’s going to be Athos’ parabatai, it seems. You like Athos.”

He shakes his head. “Athos is gloomy. I do not like gloomy people, especially Nephilim.”

“D’Artagnan isn’t gloomy,” she offers with a smile. “Besides, you know that you need to tell the Nephilim all of it. That’s why you came to me, because I am half-Nephilim and I know them. You knew I would take you to Captain Treville so let’s stop giving D’Artagnan a hard time and go to the garrison, alright?”

Magnus rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… since we’re a couple chapters into Brotherhood in Shadow and you’re still reading, we thought we’d say… THANK YOU for sticking with us and reading on. 
> 
> It was thanks to Cordelia85 that Skep discovered the amazing world of “The Musketeers” and we’re both hooked now, fully. And since we love “The Infernal Devices” and “The Mortal Instruments” (especially Magnus Bane!) too, we couldn’t think of anything better than combining the French warriors who are famous in history and literature with the totally fictional Shadowhunters. We hope you agree, at least, a little! And you’re here, reading this, so maybe you do!
> 
> Since crossovers can be tricky, please ask us any questions you have and we will try to either answer them or better explain things as we write. Feedback of almost every sort is welcomed, appreciated, and loved!
> 
> We’re having fun and we hope you are too!

Aramis suspects Treville spoke to D’Artagnan about being parabatai with Athos because D’Artagnan seems as uneasy about the prospect of being parabatai with Athos as Athos is, given that the boy immediately takes the chair as far from Athos as possible when Captain Treville leads the gaudily dressed warlock, who seems more likely to fit in in the glamour and glitz of Court than in the bland, dirty place that is the garrison, into his office. With a sigh, Aramis sits beside D’Artagnan and Porthos sits beside him. Athos seems relieved to have the spotlight off himself for the moment, and keeps his blue eyes focused on Treville. They’d all had to wait while the warlock explained whatever it was that D’Artagnan had been so agitated about to the Captain first, and know they would hear it too.

“To any of you who do not know,” Treville says, standing at the head of the table with the warlock beside him, “this is Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Paris. Warlock Bane, these are Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan.”

The warlock gives him a critical look. “I am to speak to ordinary soldiers and not just yourself?”

“You are, and they are far from ordinary.” Treville waves a hand impatiently and pulls out a chair for himself. “I have already heard it all, as it seems has D’Artagnan, but I want all of you to listen carefully to what Warlock Bane has to say. We will be taking on the problem he will present before us and I am open to suggestions as to how it can be best handled. Any questions?”

They chorus “no, sir” in perfect unison and Treville motions for the warlock to speak.

“The Comte de Rochefort,” the warlock begins, his cat’s eyes fixed on a point on the wall behind them, “has returned to Paris and installed himself at Court, very close to King Louis.”

“What’s that got to do with us?” Porthos demands, earning a smile from Aramis although he hides it behind his hands as he looks at the table. “And what’s it got to do with you?”

Magnus Bane rolls his eyes and gives a dramatic sigh. “The Comte de Rochefort is not who he seems. Granted he seems like a pompous tyrant set on world domination, and that is all true. His motives for wanting to rule the world are a bit different in that he began as simply agent for Cardinal Richelieu but, as they say, has become drunk on power and wants more of it.”

Aramis has given in and started watching the warlock closer, and he does not like the way the cat’s eyes keep landing on Athos. It sparks something in him, something that bothers him. “That still doesn’t explain what it’s got to do with us, or you,” he mutters.

The warlock turns to Treville and gives him a challenging look. “You are paying me for the time they spend interrupting me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Treville says, giving his musketeers a challenging look of his own. “Hear him out and then ask your questions. We don’t have time for games.”

They sense that he is giving them an order and they settle down as Magnus Bane picks up his story where he left off. Rochefort, he explains, has set himself on a mission to rid Paris, and eventually all of France, of any and all Shadowhunter nobility because he views them as the ones standing in the way, at least first, of his ultimate goal. “At the top of his list of targets is the Comte de la Fere, rumored to be part of the Lightwood family line and somewhere in Paris.” Magnus lets his eyes scan the room, starting with Treville and ending with Athos, where his look lingers longer than Aramis thinks is entirely unnecessary. Even Athos flushes and looks away. The High Warlock of Paris clears his throat and returns to the story. “According to my sources, whom I will not be revealing to the Nephilim so don’t bother asking, Rochefort intends to wipe out the precious Nephilim nobility before moves on to the mundane nobility, especially those at Court and close to the King.”

“So he doesn’t like nobility of any sort,” Athos says, looking at the High Warlock again, his chair back on two legs as he leaned against the wall. “What of it? Surely you would not come racing here with something as small as this.”

Magnus Bane shrugs, still not sitting down and occasionally shooting the chair Treville had offered him skeptical looks. “If you consider the annihilation of nobility as we know it to be trivial, I cannot argue against you. However, there is more and please stop interrupting me unless you wish for me to leave without telling you Rochefort’s ultimate goal and how he plans to achieve it.”

Aramis sighs impatiently as the warlock waits a full minute, almost begging for interruptions, before he picks up again.

“Rochefort sees the pampered Nephilim nobility as the primary roadblock to destroying mundane nobility, which he wants to do to ensure that he has complete control of dear King Louis and everything that gets near throne. I am not sure if he wants to get rid of Louis, so do not jump to that. What I am sure of is that he believes he can only achieve total power if he replaces everyone… with his supporters – mundane, Shadow World, and otherwise.”

“Otherwise?” Aramis demands, no longer caring about interruptions. “What is otherwise?”

“Demons,” Magnus Bane says with a shrug. “Obviously.”

Athos shook his head slowly. “Are you telling us that the Comte de Rochefort intends to replace the Court, the Court at the Louvre with… demons?”

“Among other things, yes.” He gave another shrug of his shoulders and brushed at the sleeve of his embroidered jacket. “Your next question is going to be whether or not Cardinal Richelieu is aware of this or a part of it… I do not know. I suggest you consider, though, that it was Richelieu who gave him the rope and the wood by which he intends to build the scaffold that will kill you all. The next question after that will be whether or not King Louis is aware of this… I suspect not though I suspect Rochefort is already working on a way to get him on board by manipulation or by force and, given Louis’ general weak nature, that would be a very bad thing indeed.”

“Indeed,” Treville sighs. “Is there anything else, Warlock Bane?”

Magnus Bane shakes his head and shoots a cutting glance at D’Artagnan, knowing that the perky new Musketeer heard more at the Bonacieux house and will no doubt spill it all. He decides that the boy can do what he wants, he has fulfilled his duty to the Nephilim. “No. My payment, if you please.”

Athos holds up his hand before Treville hands over a bag of coins. “One more question?”

The warlock rolls his eyes. “Yes, go ahead.”

“Can we count on any assistance from Downworld as we go after Rochefort or is there not enough threat to bring you in? Because, sir, we will not allow Rochefort destroy the Nephilim or the mundanes we are sworn to protect.”

Aramis is not surprised when Magnus says he can only speak for the warlocks, and he’ll do that later, as he rolls his cat’s eyes, after the Nephilim have some sort of plan because he cannot do all their work for them. He suggests they talk to each group of Downworlders after they settle on their own course of action and then he leaves. The room immediately dissolves into snatches of conversation about what can and should happen. Aramis doesn’t get involved. He’s lost in his own thoughts.

Two things occur to him; one, that he has no idea who the Comte de la Fere is and he wants to know and two, that they need someone central at Court as their eyes and ears. He won’t ask who the Comte is, though he suspects Treville at least would know, because Shadowhunters can take care of themselves and, if it’s meant for him to know, he’ll find out soon enough. As for the eyes and ears in Court, getting close to the King would seem useless, since he changes his mind so often so Aramis decides to think of a way to get close to Queen Anne. The Musketeers are often called her personal guard and she has always listened to the counsel, so it seems reasonable to find someone who can befriend her even more closely to keep her, the King, the Court, and the world safe from Rochefort and his demonic plans.

\--------------------------------------

“Who do you think this Comte De La Fère is?” Porthos says, entering his lodgings.

They left Treville's office after discussing with the Warlock and now they need to get ready for patrolling. Porthos snatches up his bandana and his hat and he turns to Aramis, who is still where he left him on the threshold.

“Aramis, did you hear me?” he asks, standing in front of his brother.

“What?” Aramis seems to stir from a daydream.

“I said, who do you think the Comte De La Fère is? Because I never heard of him before today, even at Court,” he repeats, leading his friend to a chair and closing the door. This is a conversation that needs to be held in private.

“No, I don't. But I think Treville does. Did you see Magnus Bane linger too much on Athos?” Aramis blurts.

“So that's why you daydreamed from the moment he left. I wondered why you were so silent,” he says sitting next to him.

“He looked at Athos for most of the meeting and he stared at him like he wanted to eat him alive,” he says as explanation.

“You're exaggerating! He's a Warlock not a Werewolf. And I don't think Athos tastes good. There's too much alcohol in his body,” he jokes.

At this, Aramis smirks. “Alright, I got it. But you know that I care about Athos, and I don't like someone else staring at him like that,”

“You love him, it's different. And you're jealous. I guess you thought Magnus Bane was interested in him and you don't like it, right?” he states, looking directly at Aramis.

“You know me too well, brother. But I know this is a one-way feeling. Athos is not interested in me like I am in him. I'm destined to not be loved, at least not in that way.” He drops his head.

“You know Athos needs time for everything. Maybe one day he'll look at you like you do. You two need only time, that's all.” He holds his brother's shoulder tight, knowing that Aramis could take all the strength he needs.

They stay like that for a while. Aramis is the first to speak. “Maybe you're right. But I still don't like how he looks at Athos,”.

“Alright. Now that we find out you don't like the Warlock, what's the other thing you have on your mind?” Porthos knows there's something else that bothers Aramis.

“Stop reading my mind, it's frustrating,” he groans.

“Sorry, but you said that I know you well. So?” Porthos laughs, pressing on.

“I keep thinking that we need someone near the King and the Queen. Especially the Queen. So we can keep them safe and keep an eye on Rochefort, if Magnus Bane is right.” He stands up, pacing the room.

“But it's impossible for us to enter the Court without trouble. Maybe Madame Bonacieux will help us if we need someone at the Queen's side,”

“I know, but it's too dangerous for her. She doesn’t have the proper training and if something happens, she can't protect the Queen. No, we need a Shadowhunter inside,” Aramis explains.

“And you proposing yourself?” Porthos smirks.

“Are you crazy? If I go in there, staying too close to the Queen, someone could think that I have an affair with her, and it will end in a disaster. I have a bad reputation with Her Majesty's ladies in waiting so, no, I'm not proposing myself.” he paces in front of Porthos, staring at the floor. But when he looks up, the big musketeer sees a spark in Aramis' eyes.

“What?” he says, worried.

“I know who couldn't draw attention at Court,” Aramis smirks wickedly.

“No. No. Aramis don't.” Now Porthos is scared. He knows what, or better who, Aramis has in mind and he doesn't like it.

“Oh, come on Porthos, what can go wrong?” he says, putting his hat on and running outside.

“Where are you going now?” he shouts, standing and running after him.

“Treville. I have to report to him my great plan, and you, my friend, are coming with me.”

\--------------------------------------------

Treville is looking at some papers when they go inside. He looks up and Porthos has the feeling he doesn't like what he sees.

“What do you want?” he hisses. Porthos wants to be somewhere else.

“Captain, I have a plan,” Aramis says. As soon as they sit he starts to explain his plan. He anticipates every question the Captain would ask and he comes up with a plan B if the former doesn't go well.

Porthos sinks in the chair little by little Aramis talks. He's his friend, his brother, his parabatai, but sometimes he wants only strangle him. He listens carefully to what they says and when Aramis ends, he takes a deep breath.

“And you think of this plan in half an hour? I still don't understand why you refuse to be my lieutenant,” Treville says in wonder. “So you really plan everything, don't you?”

“Yes, Captain,” Aramis murmurs, his cheeks red for the compliment.

“And you think the Queen will play along with us?” the Captain continues.

“Yes, or I hope so. She's so worried now that she's with child that a little bit of protection could do only good,” he says.

“Porthos, what do you think?” Now Treville is watching him.

“I don't know what to say. The plan is perfect but I don't know how we can fulfill it. If Magnus Bane is right, Rochefort is sharp enough to understand we know about him and he can change his plans at any moment, arriving to kill the King and Queen.” He's not happy about this plan but he can't say that to the Captain.

“That's why we need a man inside,” Treville says, and to Porthos it sounds like an order.

He nods knowing this is the point of no return and he sees Aramis grin.

“Good, I'll go inform the Queen. Now I think you need to be on the streets patrolling, right?” the Captain says, opening the door.

“Yes, Captain,” they say together.

Athos and D'Artagnan are waiting for them just outside the garrison and together they walk away.

\-----------------------------

The next day Porthos stands next to the Queen during the weekly meeting with the Parisian people and he wants to kill Aramis for proposing him for this job.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

D’Artagnan sighs as he follows Athos down an alley barely wide enough for their horses. He was not given a choice about accompanying his would-be parabatai to the Court of Miracles, not that he would have said no to it. But Captain Treville made it an order and Aramis suggested he might get to know Athos better and like him. D’Artagnan is skeptical of this but the worst case scenario seems to be the same as the best case scenario - that they will know if they can work well enough to be parabatai or not. And the Court of Miracles seemed like a neutral sort of place to do it. He dismounts when they reach a courtyard and hangs back while Athos approaches an old man with only one leg.

“Monsieur Athos!” the man cries out happily. “It has been a long time. Where is our friend Porthos today?”

“It’s been too long, Philippe,” Athos says, shaking the man’s hand warm. “Porthos is on assignment at Court today, unfortunately.”

Philippe whistles in awe. “At Court? Our Porthos there, imagine.”

He nods, waving D’Artagnan forward. “He will visit you soon, I am certain. For today, this is Monsieur D’Artagnan. D’Artagnan, this is Monsieur Philippe and he is a very old friend of Porthos. He will take care of our horses while we conduct our business, will you not, Philippe?”

“I will with pride, Monsieurs.” He pushes himself to his feet and hobbles on a wooden cane toward the horses.

“Was he a Musketeer?” D’Artagnan asks as they walked deeper into what he assumes is the Court of Miracles. “At least once a soldier of some sort?”

Athos shakes his head. “He was born without the leg, as far as Porthos knows, so he could never been a soldier. He has the Sight, however, so he lives here. He helped raise Porthos here.”

The younger Musketeer starts in surprise. “A Shadowhunter was raised in the Court of Miracles?” he says, staring up at the close buildings with laundry hung from one window the next and catching sight of brightly colored Seelies skirting the end of the alley.

“He was. He still comes here when he can and helps those he knew then.”

D’Artagnan thinks it’s a little strange, then, that he and Athos are hunting yin fen dealers in the Court of Miracles while Porthos is at Louis’ Court at the Louvre and, before he can stop himself, he says so.

Athos gives him a weary look. “Of course he cannot investigate crimes being committed here. Would you investigate your own family? Arrest them and take them away to prison while other members of your family watch? I think not.”

Knowing that he was wrong to even think such a thing, and embarrassed that he said it to Athos, he shakes his head and tries to change the subject. “Is there anything specific I should know or am I just following your lead?”

“There is evidence that the werewolves are buying the yin fen from the ifrits. The werewolves live at the furthest edge of the Court, near the Bois de Boulogne. We will go there and see what there is to be seen.” Athos keeps a quick pace as he turns corner after corner in the maze of streets and alleys and, when the younger man says that they are not looking for the ifrits because they fall under the control of the High Warlock of Paris, as non-magical warlocks, he nods in appreciation. “Yes, exactly. The goal today is to find evidence of yin fen being dealt in Downworld, evidence that the ifrits are behind it. We present that evidence to the High Warlock of Paris…”

“And if he does not act on it, we will have to move in and kill the ifrits to stop the trade.”

Athos makes a noise of agreement. “Yes. Now, as to your original question, follow me but follow your instinct as well. I want to see how you do.”

D’Artagnan can’t help but think of this as praise, or at least trust - whichever is most likely from Athos. He vows to himself that he will not disappoint and he stands beside Athos instead of behind him when they reach the edge of the hunting grounds that are the Bois de Boulogne. He watches as a very tall man with a long beard and matted hair tied back with a piece of leather emerges from the shadows and demands to know their business there.

“Clave business,” Athos says almost lazily. “And you should thank us for it.”

“Why would I do that? Nephilim always think Downworlders ought to be grateful. We aren’t.”

Sensing that the man is mostly putting on a show, and worried that he’ll get carried away with it, D’Artagnan crosses his arms over his chest and tries to bring the werewolf, who he assumes is the pack leader, back to the point. “You’re having a problem, aren’t you? With your pack and drugs?”

“How’d you know about the yin fen?” he exclaims, before seeming to realize D’Artagnan hadn’t mention which drugs. He scowls at both men and then sighs. “Yeah, I’ve got a problem with it. What are you going to do about it?”

“Stop the problem,” Athos says dryly. “Obviously.”

“Before you start a war with the Children of Lilith,” D’Artagnan adds, betting on that being what the pack leader had in mind.

He growls, again showing that he had been caught out. “I’ve got a whole pack and the warlocks and ifrits are a handful. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

Athos sighs. “It would. You would lose. Magnus Bane has returned to Paris.”

This changes the pack leader again and he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Oh. Fine, then. What are you going to do about it?”

“Have you confiscated any yin fen?” Athos asks. “If you have, turn it over to us now and save us the trouble of searching your headquarters for it. When we have it, because I know you have it, we will trace it to it’s source and stop the problem there.”

“By killing the ifrits? Or at least driving them from the city?”

D’Artagnan rolls his eyes at how easily the pack leader falls back into letting the Nephilim do his work for him. He doubts this leader will be leader for long. “Rest assured, sir, that we will do everything in our power to stop yin fen from entering Paris and harming Downworld and the Nephilim alike. That is all you need to know at this point.”

The man whistles and two other men appear, sharing a word with their leader before they disappear again. They return minutes later with a wooden box and set it on the ground in front of Athos. “Those are containers the stuff came in,” the pack leader says. “Maybe traces of the drugs. I don’t know. It’s what I have.”

Athos lifts the box and nods. “If there is a spike in it or any more trouble before we sort this out, tell Philippe to contact the garrison and we will return.”

D’Artagnan follows Athos back through the alleys and streets, nervous that he did something wrong but trying not to read too much into the other man’s silence. Especially since silence seems to be his favorite way to communicate. He helps strap the box to Roger, Athos’ horse, and mounts his own while Athos gives Philippe coins for his service.

Only when they are in the wider, more well-to-do streets of Paris did Athos speak. “You did well with the pack leader,” he says, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You read his body language well and kept him off guard. Your instinct is strong.”

Trying not to let the praise make him smile, D’Artagnan nods. “Thank you.”

D’Artagnan can barely believe it. It seems to easy, and he suspects it probably is. He tries to think of what to say, and is sort of relieved when the noises of the crowd the find themselves in give him time before he has to answer.

\--------------------------------------------------

Porthos is standing beside the Queen, Aramis at his side and the only thing he is thinking right now is about killing his parabatai. But Aramis is right, for once, he is the best choice for this job. He doesn't have connections between the Palace walls, he's not reckless and young and, the most important thing, he won't fall in love with one of the Queen's ladies in waiting, or worse, the Queen herself. The Queen's voice draw his attention and he concentrates on it.

“Sire, I'd like to retire to my apartments, if it's not an inconvenience,” she whispers in the King's ear.

“Of course not, my love. It's been hours and I think my son is tiring you. May Rochefort escort you?” he says pointing to his advisor.

“No, Sire, thank you. Monsieur Porthos could bear to do alone this job,” she says curtseying slightly.

The King stands and helps his wife descend the dais, while Porthos and Aramis look each other .

“Go, I'll stay here with the King,” Aramis says, smiling. Porthos nods and follows the Queen out of the throne room.

\-----------------

“So, Captain Treville told me about your plan. He doesn't trust Rochefort and he needs someone inside to keep an eye on him,” the Queen says as soon as they are alone in her rooms. She convinced her ladies to leave her, saying that Porthos would be enough protection.

“Well, Your Majesty, it's a little bit complicated than that.” Porthos shifts uncomfortably from a feet to the other.

“Please, enlighten me,” she continues, sitting at the end of her bed. Porthos doesn't know how much the Queen knows and he doesn't want to reveal too many things if she doesn't know anything. The Queen misinterpret his expression and, alarmed, she exclaims, “ He isn't a demon doesn't he?”

“What? No! No, Your Majesty, but he's planning something against us and we are only concerned about your safety and your husband's,” he explains, coming closer to her.

She sighs deeply, rubbing a hand on her bump and Porthos reduces the distance in two strides. He kneels, taking her hands in his and, looking up, he swears to say the truth no matter what, and to protect her and her baby, from mundane and Shadow World threats. She smiles at this display of affection, knowing that he said those things because it's his duty to save the royal family from any form of threats, but she is surprised too because she never expected that this big, intimidating musketeer could be so sweet.

Porthos stands and excusing himself, he returns to his original place, near the door.

The Queen nods and she decides to lay on the chaise lounge, reading. The silence doesn't last long and after a while she puts her book aside and she addresses Porthos again.

“Can I ask you something, Monsieur Porthos?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he says.

“Why you? I know it's Captain Treville who assigns the mission but I don't understand why he chose you,” she asks, looking interested.

Porthos takes a deep breath, knowing he won't like this conversation. “It's because of my background,”

The Queen looks at him, curious about what he means, but not wanting to break this confession with questions.

“I don't have the same background as my brothers. I grew up in the Court of Miracles. Some think that only poor people live in those barracks, but most of the Downworlders are there. I grew up living next to a werewolf or a fairy, or even a vampire. I learnt to be invisible and soundless, even without a rune for that. And even if mundanes know, they can't see us if we glamour. So, with or without a rune or two to help me in this mission, Captain Treville knows I'm the right person.” he finishes, returning motionless a few moments later.

Satisfied, the Queen picks up her book again leaving Porthos in peace. For today.

\-----------------

“I'm fucked,” Porthos growls when he and Aramis are heading to the garrison that night.

“Why this coloured expression, my friend?” his parabatai asks looking ahead.

“Because, I fucked this whole mission up before starting it and I even don't know how!” He grips the reins in frustration.

“Did you tell Rochefort everything? I don't think so. So why do you look like one who just lost his cat?” Aramis asks, looking at him sideways.

“It's the Queen. She's so sweet and understanding, that I don't know how to behave in her presence. And she knows who we are,” he complains.

“Ah, our lovely sovereign is so sweet and smart that she already hit the target,” his friend answers dreamily.

“Shut up! She didn't hit any target. She was only worried about her son and maybe us, but that's enough,” Porthos snarls back. He is trying to convince himself too. He doesn't know what happened with the Queen when they were alone in her room, but he doesn't like it. Her reaction when she thought Rochefort was a demon, his action afterwards, aren't a simple interaction between a Queen and her guard. It's something more. And Porthos doesn't want to discover what this more is.

Aramis watches his friend with concern, deciding between mocking him again or shutting up until they reach the garrison. He opts for the second and he keeps an eye on him the entire trip.

  


 


	5. Chapter 5

D’Artagnan can barely believe his eyes and ears.

It was strange enough that Constance followed him to the garrison, smiling mysteriously and promising that it would all be explained soon enough when he demanded to know why. And it was stranger still when Serge brought her a chestnut mare and a saddle as soon as he saw her.

“You’re coming with us?” he asks in disbelief. He’d spent the night with her because her husband was still in Brussels and because he was going to be away on a mission to carry letters from the King and Rochefort to the nobles stationed at the border with Spain, protecting France from incursions. The mission, he’d been told by Porthos the night before, would probably take a week, two if they ran into trouble.

Constance offers him a cheeky grin. “I am.”

“But… why?” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Porthos and Aramis watching them, and chuckling together of his current state. He pushes that from his mind and watches as she accepts a leather weapons belt from Athos and straps it around her waist.

“You’re not going to tell me a woman isn’t capable, are you?” she says with a dramatic sigh.

“She’s more than capable,” Athos adds before D’Artagnan can answer. “And she is coming with us because Queen Anne has given her letters to be delivered to ladies who will deliver them to King Philip and Queen Elisabeth in Madrid. We will rendezvous with the ladies after we deliver the King’s letters to his nobles.”

He scowls, he’s absolutely sure he scowls, but he can’t help it. “I’m not saying you’re not capable, Constance,” he insists. “It’s just… you didn’t tell me last night. And they knew,” he adds, waving in the general direction of the now laughing Porthos and Aramis.

“I wanted to see the look on your pretty face this morning,” she tells him with a smile before turning serious. “I have gone on missions before, never this far away. I may be part-Seelie but I am part-Nephilim and I have been trained and tutored in fighting.”

“Possibly better than you, my young friend,” Aramis interrupts with a wink, “since she was trained by us.”

Athos brushes past them, leading Roger, his well-trained horse, simply by walking in front of him. “Enough. We ride and we ride now. There will be plenty of time for all this one our journey.”

Impishly, Constance sticks her tongue out at him before she mounts the mare Serge holds for her.

 

They stopped only once during the day, to rest the horses and stretch their own legs, and even then they didn’t speak much. But now as they stop beside a gently running stream for the night, protected on three sides by softly rolling hills, things are slowly becoming more friendly. Athos and Aramis are scouting the hills on foot to make sure there will be no surprises, Constance is making a fire and preparing to make dinner, and D’Artagnan is with Porthos where they have already settled the horses and are now skinning rabbits to roast. Never really having been alone with Porthos, D’Artagnan isn’t quite sure what to say. He knows he wants to ask if it’s very common for Constance, or any other woman, to travel with them but he’s afraid now that the question might be unwelcome.

“She doesn’t come with us often,” Porthos says abruptly, “but the Queen trusts her more than anyone so she trains with us sometimes so she can do Her Majesty’s bidding.”

“Aren’t you the Queen’s guard now?”

The big musketeers makes a grumbling sort of noise. “I am. Doesn’t mean she’ll like me better than one of her ladies. Besides, it’s simple - we deliver Constance and she delivers the letters.”

D’Artagnan has yet to figure out just why the Musketeers are more loyal to Queen Anne than to King Louis, though he suspects it has to do with Rochefort. A different question comes to mind, though, so  he asks it instead. “Have any of you… you know… I mean, before Constance was… married?”

Porthos lets out a deep belly laugh and rocks back on his heels as he slides the skin off the rabbit. “Courted Constance? No, no. Athos and Aramis have other, er, priorities, let’s say and me? Well, I know her from the Court of Miracles when she was a tiny thing getting in fights with the boys and winning more than she lost. She’s like my own sister.”

Not sure if that makes him feel better or worse, D’Artagnan sighs. “So I’m not… offending anyone by seeing her?”

“Other than her husband, you mean?” he says with a lopsided grin. “No. For one thing, we don’t like him. For a second thing, you would not be spending nights with her if we three thought you weren’t good enough for her.”

He takes that to be both a compliment and a threat, though he never intends to hurt her so it will come to nothing.

 

Constance’s presence changes the dynamic of the group as they sit around the campfire, although he realizes it might be the distance from Paris too. Aramis and Porthos have always joked and laughed but now they do it in a way that makes them seem like brothers instead of friends, teasing and being teased by her. But the most startling thing of all is that D’Artagnan sees Athos smile, really smile, for the first time.

“If you were not here, D’Artagnan,” Athos says suddenly, pulling the younger man from his thoughts, “where would you be?”

“If you’d kept about your country lad business, he means,” Aramis adds, “and never been any the wiser about demons and us.”

He blinks into the firelight, waiting for a good answer to come to him. One doesn’t, so he tells the only answer he can think of. “Sitting at home in Gascony, waiting to inherit my father’s lands, for my father to die, I suppose.”

Porthos laughs deeply and Athos tips a flask in his direction. “He tells the truth, I like it,” the Musketeer in charge says with a gleam in his eye.

Maybe it’s the fresh air away from Paris or how much the valley they’re in reminds him of home, but D’Artagnan feels bolder in conversation than he sometimes otherwise does. “I am sorry my father died, of course,” he says, still looking at the flames, “but I’m not sorry I ended up in Paris, ended up doing this.” He can feel Constance’s green eyes on him but he doesn’t look at her or anyone else.

D’Artagnan jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Athos, who had been across the fire, standing over him. The man who Captain Treville wants to be his parabatai is looking at him with serious eyes. “And we are not sorry that you ended up in Paris, doing this with us either,” he says, offering the younger man his flask.

Drinking a little of the wine, D’Artagnan feels just a little more accepted and it feels good.

\-------------------------

“So you'd be milking a cow right now?” Aramis asks after some time. They sit in a companionable silence for awhile, enjoying the food, the wine and the company. Athos is leaning against a tree and if Aramis were not talking, he'd fall asleep there.

“Maybe not right now, because it's night but if you weren't here, with us,” Aramis stammers.

“Hey, Darlin', stop rambling. I know you're tired and this brings you to start thinking in a language and speaking in another but, if you do that without warming him before, the lad will run from us screaming, thinking we're all crazy. So, please, take a deep breath, think what you want to ask, and try again.” Porthos, as always, comprehends Aramis' needs and Athos thinks it's understandable given the fact they're parabatai, but he feels a pang of jealousy every time. Right now it's like a blade in his chest. And he doesn't know why.

D'Artagnan doesn't wait for Aramis to rephrase the question. “Yes. I'd pass my days milking cows, hoeing, and doing everything that involves running a farm,” he smiles.

“I have never milked a cow,” Constance says out of nowhere. She's looking at the fire, smiling.

“Me neither,” Porthos responds. “I didn't even know what a cow looks like before I joined the Musketeers.” Athos had no problem imagining a young Porthos in the Court, with a lot of people but no animals, if you don't count rats and cockroaches.

“I didn’t either. But I helped my father with a mare,” Aramis steps in between.

“Did your father milk a horse? Is it even possible milking a horse?” Porthos enquires.

“It's not what I meant. And it's not possible to milk a horse. I meant that I helped my father when our mare gave birth. It was the most amazing thing I saw in my entire life. And don't make that face, Porthos!” he exclaims at his parabatai's disgusted face. “Thanks to that I have my Belle,” he explains, referring to his mare.

“Alright, alright, I don't want your horse be angry with me, or kicking me because I made you angry.” Porthos puts his hands up in surrender, grinning.

“If you don't stop, I'll kick you!” Aramis smirks and nudges Porthos in the ribs. They continue smiling and pestering each other while the conversation changes and only D'Artagnan and Constance are talking. Athos enjoys this moment, sipping the wine, watching his brothers and the lady like a guardian angel.

“Did you ever milk a cow? Or help a horse give birth?” Aramis' voice, once again, shakes him from his thoughts and, maybe helped by the wine, the weather, or those brown eyes focused on him, he can't help but answer.

“I never milk a cow or helped with a pregnant mare, but I saw when Roger was born and I agree with you, it's one of the most fascinating experience I had saw in my life,” he smiles. It feels good saying something about his life without revealing who he is.

Satisfied with the answer he got, Aramis smiles back and he turns to Porthos, changing the subject of their conversation again.

 

“Athos,” D'Artagnan whispers, shaking him a little. He opens his eyes,realizing he must have dozed off at some point, scanning the area. Porthos is leaning against a tree at the opposite side of him, barely awake and with Aramis' head on his thigh. He's sleeping like Constance, wrapped up in her bedroll. He sits up, looking at D'Artagnan.

“How much?” he asks, still a little sleepy.

“Two hours at least,” D'Artagnan says, sitting next to him. “But I thought Porthos will join them soon so I woke you,” he says as an excuse.

“Thank you. But you should sleep too,” he replies.

“I'm good for now,” he puts his head on the trunk, sighing deeply.

“Please, ask the question. I'm still too drowsy for guessing,” Athos drawls. D'Artagnan looks at him and, after thinking a little bit, he starts speaking.

“Before, when we were talking, Porthos mentioned Aramis thinks in a language and speak in another. What did he mean?”

“One of the skills of a Shadowhunter is speak at least one other language in addition to its mother tongue. It's not one of the most required but it’s still useful. Aramis happens to be Spanish from his mother’s side so, he sometimes, especially when he's tired, speaks it instead of French. It's why Porthos has to remind him to translate from one language to another, or we don't understand him,” he explains.

“And you and Porthos? Know some other language?” D'Artagnan asks.

“Porthos knows only French, and some Latin, like all the Shadowhunters. I speak English, and Aramis does too.” He knows D'Artagnan doesn't know a lot about Shadow World but he doesn't feel safe to reveal that he knows another language.

D'Artagnan seems to reflect on what the musketeer said and something more. Athos looks at him and follow his gaze, focused on his brothers.

“Go on, spit it out,”

“Are they...” he starts, not knowing how he can continue.

“Together? I don't know. Aramis is always seeking contact, he needs touching and to be touched. And Porthos is the one who gives it and receives it. And, anyway, if they are, they have to stop it, because it’s not allowed to fall in love with your parabatai,” he tells him. He knows the boy is not satisfied with his explanation, but thinking about his brothers together, in a forbidden relationship, gives him horrible thoughts. He doesn't want anything happens to them.

“Why?” Another question from him.

“Bad things happen to parabatai who fall in love with each other. And I don't talk about heartache or betrayal but magical disasters, that nobody can prevent. So, I hope they're not together because it's not allowed to fall in love with your parabatai,” he finishes explaining. D'Artagnan looks at him and then, knowing that their conversation is over, he lie down, closing his eyes.

“ _La Legge è dura, D'Artagnan, ma è la Legge_.” he murmurs starting his lonely watch.

  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Italian= The Law is hard but it's the Law


	6. Chapter 6

Athos stays awake for most of the night. When the first rays of the sun appear, he yawns and stands up, inclined to wake Aramis up. It's in that moment that he sees some movement from the trees. Sleep forgotten, he draws his sword, ready for the intruders.

He kicks lightly at Aramis’ foot, waking him almost instantly. As soon as his brother is awake, he motions to stay silent. He knows that waking Aramis means that Porthos will follow soon so he's not surprised when the big musketeer open his eyes, mindful of Constance still asleep next to him. Athos sees him standing up, draws his sword and positions himself in front of the lady. Aramis is already next to him, ready to attack. At the last moment he takes a little stone from the ground and hits D'Artagnan right in the forehead.

“So we are all up,” Aramis says as justification.

Athos turns and see that Constance is now awake and still behind Porthos, even if she has her own sword.

“We don't attack until we know who or what they are,” Athos whispers. The others nod and wait.

“Drop your weapons and give us all you have.” The first man appears from the trees. Other men follow and surround them.

Athos watches carefully for any sign that the men are more than just mundanes but when a man draws a dagger and throws himself against Aramis, he knows these are simple thieves, well-equipped but still common mundane thieves. He blocks the blade meant for his head and he strikes back, sending his opponent back. He sighs and takes a quick look at the others.

The man with the dagger is already dead on the ground, nearby Aramis is still fighting with another one. Porthos has three men to fight against, but Athos is not worried, knowing that the big musketeer can deal with more without problem. D'Artagnan has some difficulties with his opponents. He's fighting hard against two men at once, but every time he sends one of them back the other launches himself at him with more force. Athos heads to help D'Artagnan when another thief points a pistol at him.

“Drop the sword and give me the money,” he growls. Athos stays still, looking the other in the eyes. The man is pulling the trigger when Athos hears a loud bang. The thief drops in front of him, the pistol still loaded. Athos looks up and sees Aramis smiling, a smoking pistol in his hand. He nods and then dispatches quickly another robber near him. After that he turns to see again if some of his brothers need him. Constance is fighting against the leader, and it seems that she has the upper hand. A hiss and a low growl bring his attention back to Aramis and Porthos. One of them will not escape unscathed this fight.

\------------------

Aramis is reminded too late that showing off during fights, even against common mundane thieves, is never a good idea. He especially realizes this as Athos paces around the now cold fire pit without saying a word. Athos’ blue eyes flash constantly to Aramis, watching like a hawk as a Porthos draws iratzes on his parabatai’s wounded arm and Constance applies strips of cloth bandaging from her back to the already healing wound. Even the birds have flown away from the ring of trees, as if sensing the fury building in Athos.

Aramis desperately wishes Athos were more like other men and shouted and kicked things instead of the steady silence. Then again, he rather likes Athos just the way he is.

On the other hand, his arm hurts where the final dagger swipe of the final thief had sliced through his skin, though they’ve all assured him it did not touch muscle or bone, and he wishes Athos would stop glaring in silent disappointment. It really is not the best look on him, not that Aramis would admit to thinking of such things to anyone but himself, and possibly Porthos.

“I’m sorry, Athos,” he says when he can take the silence no more. He hisses briefly when Constance wraps the cloth too tight, and shakes his head. “I was careless and none of us should have been injured in that fight.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said or done all morning,” Athos mutters under his breath before speaking at a normal level. “In any case, I want to point out that Aramis is not the one who has caused the most trouble.”

“He’s not?” D’Artagnan asks in surprise.

“He’s not,” Porthos says with an apologetic sigh. “I am. I killed the one who hurt Aramis too… intensely.”

Constance snorts in an unladylike way as she stands and brushes off her skirts. “Intensely? It looks like he was attacked by a bear.”

“He hurt my parabatai,” the big musketeer protests weakly.

Athos nods once in acknowledgment of that. “Be that as it may, Constance is correct. That means as soon as you finish with the healing runes, you need to make the area look like there was a bear attack. D’Artagnan and I will take his accomplices’ bodies a little way off and make it look like there was a gunfight there, but you need to make it look like he was mauled by a bear after getting separated from his group.”

“And I’ll erase any trace that we were here,” Constance says. “The horses will be ready when you get back as well.”

Aramis notices D’Artagnan seems a little confused by all this, the staging of attacks and bear references, but it is good, he supposes, to see the young boy following Athos’ orders without question. He knows Athos will like him more, as only Athos can like someone, if he starts asking questions and offering suggestions but for now, following orders is good because Porthos used his seraph blade on the thief and no one can know that the Nephilim were there and killed mundanes.

It will be a great relief to get the letters delivered and get back to Paris without any more trouble. Somehow even Rochefort and his evil plans seem like less trouble than irritating mundanes who want gold and horses.

  
With a sigh, he stands up to see to the horses while Constance cleans the campsite.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Aramis had just gotten used to being home after the trip to the Spanish border, which was happily not interrupted by anything other than the mundane robbers, when Porthos’ friend Philippe sent word from the Court of Miracles that there were rumors of a shipment of _yin fen_ being brought into Paris by barge on the Seine. Unhappily for Aramis, this news finds him out in the middle of the night during a violent thunderstorm as he, Porthos, Athos, and D’Artagnan scouted the area around the warehouses near the docks. They cannot act without some evidence and the gathering of evidence requires skulking around in the rain, trying to look like they belong in the rundown part of the city. The only bright side of the foul weather is that their heavy cloaks are quickly turned dark with water and it makes it far easier to blend in.

Still, though, Aramis does not like being wet.

“There are lanterns lit in the warehouse closest to the dock,” Porthos says as water drips off the brim of his hat. “It’s the only one with light so that must be where the business is happening.”

“I scouted from the street,” D’Artagnan says, his dark hair stuck to his forehead because the boy refused to wear a hat, “and I saw the same place. The windows in the front are papered over so little light is seen from there. The paper was not fragile or dyed by the sun and soot so it’s freshly applied. Something is happening there.”

Aramis does not miss the look of pleased surprise on Athos’ face at the boy’s diligence in discovering details without being told what to look for. “Aside from the dock,” he offers, “there’s a door at the street and two on the back. Did Philippe say if he knew who or what was bringing it in?”

“ _Ifrits_ , he thinks,” he says. “Probably some demons traveling with them and a warlock, maybe.”

“Well, they’re not going out into the street unless they have to,” Athos says, “except perhaps the warlock. We’re going to have to split up.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Porthos says bluntly, earning a startled look from D’Artagnan. “What? It is. Statistics show that splitting up almost never a good idea. Even when it’s absolutely necessary, it still goes badly.”

Athos rolled his eyes and stepped toward one of the side doors. “And it goes less badly when those who know what they are doing pay attention and do it well. Unlike what happened when the pair of you ended up hurt on that mission in Grenoble.”

Wincing at the memory of accidentally losing his pants to a _Ceciliae_ demon and accidentally setting a barn full of hay on fire, not to mention what happened to Porthos, Aramis pushes D’Artagnan toward Athos and stands a little behind his own parabatai. “We’ll pair off this way?” he suggests, in an attempt to avoid D’Artagnan hearing the story. He could find it out later, when he was more a part of the group. For now, it was better that he not lower his opinions of them over an old story. “Porthos and I will walk the perimeter, ending up at the doors that lead to the river, because that is where the demons are most likely to go,” he explains for D’Artagnan’s benefit, “and because they can disappear deeper into France if they get into the water.”

“And we will go inside,” Athos says. “With the rain the way it is, I think the best plan will be to start any _yin fen_ we see on fire. The weather will keep the fire from spreading to innocent warehouses and the drugs will be destroyed. Keep your weapons ready, though, D’Artagnan.”“Always,” the younger man says seriously, though he is obviously bothered that Athos felt the need to tell him that.

Aramis clears his throat. “In any case, Athos, there are no such things as innocent warehouses in this part of Paris but I agree that it would be bad business to set the whole place on fire and risk serious damage. The rain will do the trick nicely.”

“Only question,” Porthos says as they beginning to split up, “is are we aiming to catch and question anyone or just kill them?”

“Catch and question, if possible,” Athos said, “so the two of you will have that as your primary task while we destroy the drugs.”

No one questions those orders and the four Musketeers split up. Neither Aramis nor Porthos is entirely comfortable with being split up but they are trained to fight as a pair so it isn’t new, not for them. Both men worry a little for the two who do not have years of training together in situations like this, but they both know Athos who smack them for worry about it so they get to the business they were assigned. And catch an _ifrit_ escaping just a few minutes later. They bind him to a tall wooden pole that is within view of both rear exits so they can interrogate him while they watch for other escapees.

The _ifrit_ rather predictably, Aramis thinks, immediately demands to speak to Magnus Bane before he will say a word to them. Already in a bad mood thanks to the weather, and worry about Athos’ safety inside the warehouse, he presses his seraph blade to the creatures scale-covered neck. “We are Nephilim, _ifrit_ , and possibly if you are very helpful when you answer our questions we will turn you over to him.”

“But we’re within our rights to kill you, for being involved in _yin fen_ trafficking,” Porthos points out as he pats the creature’s pockets and discovers a tin of the stuff, “so you’ll do well to remember that.”

“The vampires in London are moving it,” he blurts out, apparently very much threatened. “They’re making money on it and I think they have a deal with the vampires here.”

Aramis snorts and presses the blade closer. “Vampires can’t take _yin fen_.”

“Course not. They’re selling it. They pay us to move it and get the werewolves addicted. And I don’t know anybody by name,” he adds quickly, “that is all I know. I swear it.”

Porthos sighs over the fact that it’s now a multi-species issues and is going to be a lot more complicated to clean up, and he’s about to press the _ifrit_ for more when he sees flames bloom through the papered windows of the warehouse. It’s what he expected to see. But he does not expect to hear the booming crash that echoes from inside.

The _ifrit_ is left tied to the pole as Aramis and Porthos race inside.

\-----------

D'Artagnan follows Athos until they're outside the door facing the street.

“It's better they don't hear us when we go inside,” the older musketeer says.” Draw this,” he adds, showing D'Artagnan his soundless rune. He passes his stele on the skin, grimacing when the rune burns on it and then lets Athos know he's ready.

“It'll be less painful once you get used to it,” he smirks leading the way.

Opening the door, a demon stands in front of them, facing the warehouse. Athos taps what he thinks is it’s shoulder and when it turns, facing him, he slits it’s throat, dissolving the demon without a sound. Having the way free, they step inside.

What they find freezes the blood in their veins. In front of them there are rows of tables with ifrits and others demons working to divide, weigh and pack all the yin fen they have, and there's a lot of it.

Athos stops abruptly, hiding behind a box. D'Artagnan is so focused on the view in front of him that he goes on walking, right in the middle of the tables.

Athos watches fascinated as D'Artagnan walks between the demons without them noticing him. At least until another demon, one set to guard the sorting,steps in and realises there is an intruder . At that point two things happen. First, the guard sounds the alarm and charges at D'Artagnan in one swift move. Second, the demons run away scared instead of fighting them.

Athos runs to D'Artagnan, helping him with the guard, and fights another wave of angry demons. He beheads a Moloch demon who tries to set D'Artagnan on fire and turns in time to see the leader, a warlock, like Philippe guessed, watching the scene from the balcony where he stands, and whispers an order to another Moloch demon. He tips an imaginary hat and disappears through a portal.

Athos tries to follow it but a tentacle encircles him, letting his attention to switch from a demon to another. He hisses when something pierces the skin of his arm, his vision blurs and it takes a moment to realize that there's venom running in his blood. Swearing, he kicks behind trying to produce some pain in the demon so he can free himself. When the tentacle starts to loosen, he hears a pained hoot and the demon dissolves in an heartbeat. He sags on the floor catching his breath. A hand touches him and he starts.

“It's me, D'Artagnan,” the boy says, helping him to his feet. “Is everything alright?” he adds when he sees Athos swaying dangerously.

“Yes, its tentacle tightened too hard,” he doesn't want to reveal that he's injured. They need to kill as many demons as they can and if he says to the boy that, he'll lead them out of the warehouse, letting the yin fen trafficking spread.

“Good. Let's kill some demons,” D'Artagnan grins. He nods and follow him.

He fights and kills all the demons that come to his path but he grows weak and he doesn't know if he can go on. With his vision blurred he doesn't see a Moloch demon strikes him and he falls. He tries to regain some balance but the demon attacks again and again and he's left to the floor, panting hard. He doesn't see D'Artagnan take his pistol, but he hears the shot and a roar  from the angry demon. A boom echoes through the walls all he can do is cover his face. A loud crash is all he can hear before feeling agonizing pain and losing consciousness.

\------------

Someone is tapping his cheek, calling his name but all he wants to do is stay where he is, in the darkness where he can't feel pain. The voice grows and the tapping turns to slaps and he opens his eyes reluctantly.

“You're awake,” D'Artagnan says, relieved. “We need to get out of here now,” he continues.

Still a little bit disoriented, Athos tries to sit but as soon as he lifts his head he feels sick and his left leg throbs painfully. He's little aware of the heat and the smoke while he lays down and close his eyes.

“Stay with me Athos,” D'Artagnan says.

“Hurts,” he answers.

“I know it hurts but you need to stay awake and help me lift the beam,” the boy explains.

_What beam?_ He thinks.

“Athos, the warehouse is crashing down and a beam landed on your leg. We need to take it off of you and escape before the ceiling comes down and buries us,”

_So it's why my leg hurts so much..._ Athos thinks, eyes still closed is trying to breathe deeply.

“Strength,” he whispers when he regains some of his composure.

“What?” D'Artagnan doesn't know what the musketeer is referring to.

“Draw a strength rune and try to lift it. I can't,” he says through gritting teeth. “Poisoned,” he explains with a whisper.

D'Artagnan swears and Athos, eyes opened a sliver, see him concentrating and drawing the not so difficult rune on his hand. He stands up, taking the beam for one end and lift it with a little effort. Athos screams and swears, the pain too strong to even think of passing out. D'Artagnan throw the beam as far as he can and crouches beside Athos.

“Athos, breathe. In and out,” he says, looking the musketeer laying on the floor. Athos follows his instructions and repeats it a few times before the pain receding and he can think clearly.

“Are you with me?” D'Artagnan asks.

“Yes,” he croaks.

“Now you have to slide your arm behind my shoulders, so I can raise you up and get out of here,” he says reassuringly.

Athos does as he asked so the boy can lead them out of the warehouse on fire. Between the poison still running in him and the now painful throb in his leg, it's a challenge to stand up for the injured musketeer. He groans and grits his teeth when D'Artagnan has him on his feet and it takes some moments to feel completely stable.

“Can we go?” the younger musketeer asks with urgency.

Not sure about his voice, Athos nods and grips the leather under his hand and hold it tight.

D'Artagnan drags him all the way to the door from where they entered before and there they find Aramis and Porthos.

“We tried to come to you but there was too much smoke and we couldn't find you,” Aramis explains as soon as he sees them.

Porthos only stares at them with the “Told you it was a bad idea split up” look on his face.

Only then the parabatai seem to notice Athos slumped on D'Artagnan's side.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Aramis shouts, worried.

Athos blinks, not realizing that he closed his eyes.

“A beam fell on his leg,” D'Artagnan answers at the same time Athos whispers, “Poison”.

“What?” Aramis asks, shocked.

None of them have time to answer the question. The warehouse collapses under the force of the fire. A lot of smoke rises from the ruins and while the others cover their mouth and nose with the sleeves of their uniforms, Athos hides his face in D'Artagnan's neck.

“We need to leave,” Porthos urges.

“We can't go back to the garrison. Athos can't ride in this state,” Aramis retorts angrily.

“Don't worry about me, I'll manage,” he says, trying to sound sure but failing miserably when he looses the hold on the boy and slips down. D'Artagnan catches him and looks worriedly at Aramis and Porthos.

“At least let me do an iratze,” Aramis says. Athos nods, noticing how in few days the role are reversed. Now Aramis is angry at him because he's injured. The medic applies a healing rune on Athos but it vanishes as soon as he finished. He swears furiously.

“Aramis there's no time to try again. This place soon will be full of demons. Let's take Athos back to the garrison where you could heal him peacefully,” Porthos reasons.

Aramis takes a deep breath and nods. “But he'll ride with me,” he states.

Athos has arrived at the point where he doesn't care anymore. The poison and the pain are too much for him to concentrate on what is happening and he wants only to lay down and close his eyes, letting the darkness surround him.

D'Artagnan thinks differently and he leads Athos to Aramis' mare. He lifts him up between the medic’s arms and when he's finally seated, Athos leans against Aramis chest, sighing deeply, passing out almost instantly.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The trouble with being the healer in a group of Shadowhunters is that no one ever wants to hold still long enough to be healed. Everybody always had somewhere else to be and something else to do, as if healing rank low on the list of important things to do in life.

Aramis makes an impatient noise and tightens his grip on Athos’ wrist. “I will knock you unconsciousness if you don’t lay still,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me do that.”

“You would not,” Athos argues.

“Try to get up again and see if I would not.”

Athos raises an eyebrow but stares up at the ceiling of his lodgings in the garrison. “It isn’t as bad as you make it seem, Aramis, and you have worked on me for nearly a full day now. This seems unnecessary.”

“It is entirely necessary. To be able to properly lead us, fight demons, play nice with the King… you must be healed and recovered.” Aramis knows he sounds like a nagging mother but he does not care. When D’Artagnan all but carried Athos out of the burning warehouse, his heart had stopped for a few seconds. To lose someone he cared so much about was not option, not if he can help it. And he can help it, by making sure all wounds were healed as much as Angelic medicine would allow. He senses Athos is about to make a getaway again and catches his wrist a second before he stands. “Stay, Athos, just a minute longer.”

Athos makes a face but he stays. Not moving isn’t so bad. The poison is still making him unexpectedly dizzy and his leg still hurts. He could get up and at least read reports, and he probably should, but it’s easy enough to stay put and let Aramis attend to him. He doesn’t like it when Aramis seems as worried as he is now, especially when Shadowhunters are meant to be injured in fights, bitten by demons and survive. He will survive. He’s not sure he’s lucky enough to stop surviving, though sometimes it seems like an easier, and cowardly, thing to consider.

“The boy did alright inside?” Aramis asks as he changes the bandages on Athos’ leg. “Your injuries were not caused by something he did?”

Athos thinks about how to answer, because D’Artagnan had been distracted and that had distracted him. But his own distraction is not D’Artagnan’s fault. He should have known better. “He did well inside. He did not cause problems.”

Not sure it’s a straight answer, Aramis sighs but does not look up. “The mission went badly, though.”

“As missions do,” Athos says evenly. “Did you get any information from the ifrit you caught? He’s not still bound to the pole, is he?”

“Porthos and D’Artagnan went back to free him, and by that I mean turn him over to the Clave,” he says, not caring much about the ifrit. “He gave up information almost too easily. The yin fen is coming in from England and he just follows orders like a good ifrit.”

“There was a warlock inside. He disappeared before we could catch him.”

“Because you’d already been wounded,” Aramis says, knowing the truth because D’Artagnan had seen more than Athos thought and reported it to him. “In any case, the ifrit mentioned vampires in London as well but that could meant to throw us off the trail.”

Athos knows that they will probably never completely stop the flow of yin fen into France but he knows that they will try and that those who they catch will pay for their crimes. Eventually. Right now, the massage Aramis is giving his broken leg feels so good that he doesn’t really want to think about anything complicated at the moment. He’s too well-trained to clear his mind, though, so he focuses it on things that can be considered without too much effort. “Why did you suggest Porthos be at the Queen’s side so often? It seems strange to send your parabatai away like that.”

Aramis shrugs and gets up to wash his hands in the ceramic bowl by the window. The leg is re-bandaged and now he has to drain some more of the poison from Athos’ blood, which will hopefully stop the dizzy spells more quickly than letting it wear off would. “Not so strange if you have a parabatai. We need someone to be close to her and she has a good relationship with him so… I can’t see why it would be a bad idea.” He doesn’t really want to talk about parabatai, because he doesn’t want to be reminded that Captain Treville wants Athos to have D’Artagnan as a parabatai. Aramis knows he’s being ridiculous, worrying what it could mean for the three of them if the younger Shadowhunter becomes more firmly fixed in their group, especially since he does genuinely like the boy, but he can’t help it.

“You’re scowling,” Athos says softly.

“Because I know you’re going to try and get away when I give you the injection,” he mutters, willing Athos not to ask any more questions. “Do you promise to stay still? If I promise that you’ll feel better if you do?”

“I don’t believe you,” Athos says with a small smile, “but yes, I will stay still. What will the injection do?”

He fills a syringe with liquid from a jar in his case and injects it just below Athos’ unfinished iratze rune. “It will make you sweat. The sweat will be the poison being expelled from your body. You will not like it, I imagine, but it is necessary.”

Athos trusts him completely so he lays still and lets him work. Feeling better will be a good thing, even if it will mean having to get up and do work. He could read reports now, while he sweats out the poison, but he doubts Aramis would allow even that. So he talks instead, talks to the one person he knows he can confide in. “D’Artagnan really did well in the warehouse.”

Eyes narrowed as he wipes a clean cloth over the injection site, Aramis sighs. “Did he? It wasn’t his carelessness that led to your injuries?” He feels a little guilty talking about the boy this way but he can tell Athos is considering Treville’s parabatai request, a request that’s really an order, and he needs to be objective even if he isn’t sure how D’Artagnan will affect the group of friends that is the three of them.

“It was not,” Athos says. “I think perhaps I have a lot to think about.”

Aramis makes a noise that doesn’t agree or disagree.

Athos takes a breath as his body temperature starts to rise. “I trust you, Aramis, to tell me if you think I shouldn’t do this.”

\--------------

Aramis leans against Athos, kissing his forehead and squeezing his hand. “Rest. I'll be here when you wake up,” He says, smiling. He takes the things he used to heal Athos and he leaves.

Athos, still sweating, has no intention of closing  his eyes and sleeping, so he stares at the ceiling thinking about his conversation with Aramis. At first he seemed skeptical like he didn't want to talk about it but then he gave up. Athos knows that Aramis wants to help, and he really appreciates it, but he needs the only thing he doesn't have. Time. So he let Aramis speak.

They talked about Porthos at the Queen's side and how this whole thing is good for both of them and why not. Aramis explained that having Porthos at his side is the most amazing thing in the world, but sometimes, especially because of their personality, their history and their different vision of love, is better to do different things, have different missions and different pastimes. It strengthens their bond and prevents futile arguments and disagreements.

Aramis explanation about the Parabatai bond is something Athos never heard of. He knows how it works and he has the medic and Porthos as living example, but how Aramis can transform it into a completely different story, telling about the biblical figure of Jonathan and David, a prince and a musician, that love each other and fight together, and how it was an inspiration to Jonathan Shadowhunter and David to create the bond, is all he needs to think about it.

Aramis went on telling him how the bond really works. He told him about the marks one parabatai drawn on the other are stronger than marks drawn by others. “So if you had  a parabatai I wasn't stuck here for the last day trying to healing you”, and how the parabatai are stronger in battle because the have each other strength. There are even marks that only parabatai can use. And it's like having a soulmate without the problem of love. There's love, of course, but it's a brotherly love, not the one between two people.

But then there are things that Athos doesn't like. Like having a strong connection between the two or sensing each other's life force. He's afraid that D'Artagnan could feel the hurt and the loneliness and he can't share this burden with the boy. Aramis said something true. Athos built a wall around his heart and he let only him and Porthos inside. And it took years for them to do it. There are still things that Athos doesn’t want to talk about and with the parabatai bond he's afraid D'Artagnan will know them.

“You don't have to worry,” Aramis said as he knew exactly what Athos was thinking. “The bond could connect two people but it doesn't mean that they will know each other entirely.”

So he still can keep his secrets. Like the fact that he's grateful that Aramis doesn't have his parabatai rune somewhere near his heart. Or that he likes Aramis taking care of him, drunk, injured or in a bad mood. Or that Aramis has really soft lips for a man. And that, even after what happened in that damned forest, he still has a kind heart and is always optimistic.

Now that he's thinking about it there's nothing that he doesn't like about Aramis.

And he was right when he said that D'Artagnan could learn from him. And teach something to him too.

Maybe having a parabatai is not a bad thing after all. All he can think, while he's drifting to sleep, is where is a good place to draw a rune. And Aramis' eyes.

\------------

When he wakes up, the next morning those eyes are watching him, and the owner is smiling to him.

“Good Morning, Athos. Did you sleep well?” he says, drying the remaining sweat from Athos' brow.

“Yes, thank you. It was illuminating,” he answers, sitting up.

“How is the dizziness ?” Aramis sits next to him on the bed.

“Better, thank you. Speaking of it, can you help me get out of bed and dress?” he says, knowing that Aramis will, most certainly, refuse to do it.

“Athos, I don't think it's a good idea. You should rest at least another day,” he states, crossing his arms.

“I'll do that. But I need to do something first.” Athos doesn't want hear any of that.

“And what is so important to sacrifice your well-being?” Aramis smirks.

“I need to speak with Treville.” It's all Athos says.

  
  
  
  


 


	9. Chapter 9

His leg hurts like hell while climbing the stairs and when he's finally outside Treville's office he wants only crawl into his bed and sleep. Athos knocks on the door while Aramis is waiting for him at the bottom of the damned stairs. He knows Aramis is worried but he needs to do this alone.  
  


“Come.” It's the only thing he hears. He steps inside and, sitting in front of the desk, is Magnus Bane.  
  


“Athos, you shouldn't be out of bed so soon,” Treville says, looking at his lieutenant worriedly.  
  


“I have something to tell you that can't wait,” he answers, moving to the chair Magnus has just vacated.  
  


“About the yin fen?” Treville asks.  
  


“No. About the other thing,” he says, grateful he's finally sitting.  
  


Treville looks surprised and instead of inquiring he turns to Magnus. “I'm sorry but we should end our conversation here. I'll contact you as soon as possible.” The Warlock seems a little bit irritated at the change of plans but he nods and leaves.  
  


“So?” Treville asks as soon as the door is closed.  
  


“I made a decision. And I think you were right. D'Artagnan needs a parabatai and a trained musketeer is better than a recruit. So I'm in,” he explains. He does it for himself too but he doesn't think Treville must know it right now.  
  


“And the fact that your birthday is tomorrow is not a coincidence?” the Captain continues.  
  


“No, it has nothing to do with that.” And the conversation with Aramis, he thinks.  
  


“And what Magnus said the last time he was here, too?” Athos decides that Treville wants to know if he hit his head too in the fight. Because that would be a good excuse for his choice.  
  


“Even that is not the reason I accept this,” he says with certainty.  
  


Treville seems to accept the explanation, nodding.“One more question. Do you want do it now or tomorrow?” Treville, now standing in front of him, looks Athos in the eyes, searching for something.  
  


“Today,” he all he says. He doesn't want to wait. Waiting means he can change his mind again. And now there are two things that he's sure of, being D'Artagnan parabatai and his love for Aramis.  
  


\------------  
  


Athos doesn't say why he needs his uniform complete of the blue cloak and the sash and Aramis doesn't ask. All he says is that Athos needs to rest if he want to regain some strength. Athos looks at him like he has two heads and six eyes and when Aramis confirms that he's deadly serious about it Athos rolls his eyes in answer. Aramis gives up and leaves, grumbling something that Athos understands as “Why I even bother try”.  
  


The ride from the garrison to Place Denfert Rochereau is everything but smooth and comfortable and when Athos dismounts his leg throbs painfully. He rubs it and heads inside. There, waiting for him is Treville, a smile on his face.  
  


“Do you know how it works?” he asks, clapping a hand on Athos' shoulder.  
  


“Yes and no. I remember Porthos and Aramis' but I don't know exactly what happens,” he says, leaning against a pillar near the entrance of the catacombs.  
  


“The two parabatai must stand inside a ring of fire, pronouncing the oath, and then they draw the rune on each other. It's simpler than it seems. Ah, one more thing. You both need a witness. Who did you choose?” Treville explains.  
  


“Do I need a witness? Why?” he asks, surprised.  
  


“You do an oath, it's common to have witnesses during a vow. Don't worry about it. It's only symbolic,” the Captain says, smiling encouraging.  
  


Athos takes a deep breath, thinking about it. It's hard to choose one of his brothers. But when he opens his mouth he knows that he's doing the right thing.  
  


“My witness will be Aramis,” he states.  
  


\---------------------------------------------------  
  


When Magnus knocks at his door Porthos can't believe what he sees.  
  


“What are you doing here, warlock?” he asks, a little bit angry.  
  


“I came to inform you and your parabatai that you'll attend a Fiery Trial today,” he drawls, almost bored.  
  


“A Fiery Trial? Which of our comrades will become parabatai? And why do you know it?” Porthos is not happy about what Magnus is talking right now.  
  


Aramis arrives at that moment. He walks past Magnus muttering something unintelligible.

Porthos knows exactly who made Aramis so grumpy and leaves Magnus on the doorstep to follow his brother inside.  
  


“Yes, leave the warlock with vital informations on the doorstep,” Magnus complains.  
  


Porthos sits next to Aramis, rolls his eyes and motions to the Downworlder to come inside  
  


“Aramis, you know how he is. I still don't understand why you still say that to him. Leave him be for today and maybe tomorrow Athos will be his usual self,” he reassures Aramis.“So, warlock, what are these vital bits of information you mentioned?” Porthos looks at Magnus still with his hand on Aramis’ neck.  
  


“Your friends will be parabatai. Today. The man with those amazing blue eyes and the kid,” he says.  
  


“What?” both musketeers exclaim at the same time.  
  


“Yes. I thought you would want to know,” Magnus continues.  
  


“And why you know this before us?” Porthos inquires while Aramis is looking stunned at the warlock. Porthos doesn't know if his brother is happy or completely terrified at the thought of Athos and D'Artagnan being parabatai, but he knows that he'll stand at his side no matter what.  
  


“It happened that I was near the office when they talked about it. And they didn't mention witnesses,” he says, looking at his nails.  
  


Aramis is the first to react. He bolts upright, moving Magnus aside and run outside. Porthos thanks the warlock and follows his friend.  
  


\------------  
  


When they arrive at the Catacombs Treville welcomes them.  
  


“They're already inside. Go and meet them. I'll follow you,” he says smiling.  
  


They both know how this will work and they go inside the City of Bones.  
  


A Silent Brother accompanies them to a room where they'll meet with Athos and D'Artagnan.  
  


Porthos is calm, and happy that finally Athos will have someone to share not only his skills but his life too. And he's happy for D'Artagnan too. He'll have the best musketeer in France.  
  


Aramis instead is nervous, ready to run. He paces for the whole room like a caged animal, looking at the doors. Porthos saw his parabatai in this state only one time, after that horrible incident, some years ago.  
  


“Aramis, stop it,” he whispers. He receives a shake of the head as answer.  
  


“What's bothering you?” he asks, hoping for a real answer.  
  


“What if he lets D'Artagnan draw the rune on his heart?” Aramis answers with another question.  
  


“He'll choose another place, Aramis. I'm sure of it,” Porthos replies, knowing exactly what Aramis is worried about.  
  


"Porthos, he'll put it on his heart,” he says defeated.  
  


"No, he won't," Porthos says, trying to convince his brother.  
  


"Yes, he will." Aramis is looking at the ground while still walking.  
  


"Aramis, please stop pacing, you're giving me a headache." Porthos grasps Aramis, trying to still him.  
  


Aramis looks at him with pleading eyes. "Porthos, how can you be so relaxed? I need to know..... I'll go search for him and ask him."  
  


“No, you won't. You stay here with me. And don't worry. Athos won't put the parabatai rune on his heart. Because that spot it's already taken, I'm sure." Porthos puts his hand on the parabatai rune on Aramis neck in a comforting manner.  
  


“How can you be so sure?” he asks, leaning against Porthos' shoulder.  
  


“Because I know you. And I know him. And he'll be a fool if he doesn't see what's in your heart,” he says, placing a small kiss to Aramis' forehead.  
  


The arrival of a Silent Brother put the conversation to an end.  
  


\--------------------------------------------------------  
  


He can't do this. He really can't. After speaking with Treville he was led to a room and the Silent Brother tells him to wait there. He starts pacing but then his leg doesn't cooperate anymore and he needs to sit down. He refuses to lean against the wall covered in bones and skulls so he sits in front of a door leaning against the cold surface. He avoids looking at walls, the thought that one of them could be Thomas isn't bearable. He doesn't know how much time passed before the door where he came from opens, revealing Aramis.  
  


“The Silent Brother told me you choose me as witness,” Aramis says instead of a greeting.  
  


“Yes. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my plan. I wasn't sure until I mounted Roger,” he says from his place on the ground.  
  


“None of that now. I know you meant well when you decided to do this so you're forgiven,” he says smiling. “But maybe next time warn me that I'll be your witness,” he goes on.  
  


“Sorry about that. I didn't know I need a witness for this,” he says. He knows that Aramis will ask him about his and Porthos ritual, but he doesn't want tell him that he remember little of it. Graveyards and catacombs don't agree with him. He doesn't know why but it was always like this.  
  


Aramis looks at him and it seems to Athos that he has that question in mind but he changes it at the last moment.“Why are you on the ground? Does your leg hurt?” Aramis asks, crouching in front of him.  
  


He wants to answer with sarcasm but, instead, he opts for the truth. “A little bit.”.  
  


Aramis smiles again and, in that moment, all the doubts and troubles vanish. Athos smiles in return and accepts the hand Aramis is offering him.  
  


\---------  
  


They stand together while D'Artagnan and Porthos are at the opposite sides of the room. He tries to remember every word of the oath, taking deep breaths to calm himself. The presence of Aramis next to him is a good start but he won't be at his side once the ritual starts.

Two rings of fire, gold and white, appear out of nowhere.  
  


_Athos. Step forward._ The voice of a Silent Brother resonates in his head. Athos looks at Aramis who smiles encouraging. He takes a deep and long breath and he enters one ring.  
  


_D'Artagnan. Step forward._ D'Artagnan seems the opposite of him. He doesn't look at Porthos and his steps are determined. And he smiles too.  
  


_Witnesses, you will stand on the wings of the Angel._ Athos looks at his brothers, seeing for the first time an angel carved on the floor. Aramis stands on the opened wing near him and Porthos takes place on the other. Both of them are looking at him and D'Artagnan.  
  


_We begin the Fiery Trial. Athos, D'Artagnan, enter the center ring. In this ring, you will be bound._ Another ring appears between them and Athos steps inside. As soon as D'Artagnan is in front of him the flames engulf them.  
  


_You will now recite the oath._   
  


Athos looks D'Artagnan before taking one last deep breath and start.  
  


_Entreat me not to leave thee,_

_Or return from following after thee_

_For whither thou goest, I will go,_

_And where thou lodgest, I will lodge._

_Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God._

_Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried._

_The Angel do so to me, and more also,_

_If aught but death part thee and me._   
  


He's not sure if his voice sounds weak and shaky to D'Artagnan as it seems to him it does, but he arrives at the end of the oath without mistakes.  
  


He unbuttons his doublet revealing the skin of his collarbone where D'Artagnan will draw the parabatai rune. This time D'Artagnan's hand shakes and Athos does the only thing he can think of. He holds the wrist and helps the boy draws the rune.  
  


Then it's his turn. D'Artagnan takes off his doublet and shirt and turns, pointing to where he wants the rune. While he passes the stele on the skin Athos thinks that he needs to know why the boy chooses this exact place.

  
  
  
  
  


 


	10. Chapter 10

The parabatai rune on his shoulders stings a little the next morning as D’Artagnan gets ready to do some training with Athos and the others. It was Porthos who came to collect him for the training, warning him that Athos has promised Aramis he will not do too much as he was still recovering from the injuries he got at the yin fen warehouse. He does not tell Porthos this, even though Porthos is lingering in D’Artagnan’s room while he gets dressed.

“Why’d you have him draw it on your shoulder?” Porthos asks, poking through the younger man’s few possessions scattered on the table in the room.

D’Artagnan almost answers but stops himself. “That’s between me and my parabatai, I think.”

Porthos chuckles as he straightens up. “Good answer. Anyway, another reason we won’t train too much today is that it’s Athos’ birthday and the Captain gave us the night off to go out and celebrate.”

His eyes narrow as he pulls on his boots. “Athos wants to go out and celebrate his birthday?”

“Well… he hasn’t said so, exactly,” he admits, leaning against the open doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest - there was a difference, at least for Athos, in going out to get drunk and going out to celebrate his birthday, “but we’re taking him out anyway. You too. You’re coming.”

“Am I?” He stood up and reached for his sword. “Alright. Let’s go train.”

  
  


Training as a parabatai was very different from all the training D’Artagnan had done before. It was also the same. It was very strange. The things they worked on - sparring and parrying - were the same. But D’Artagnan felt himself moving in tandem with Athos more than he had expected. Captain Treville had given Aramis and Porthos the task of attacking the new parabatai and trying to catch them off guard, to see how they reacted as a team. Though it is hard to see Porthos and Aramis as true “attackers,” D’Artagnan quickly sees the point of the exercise because he realizes his movements are almost timed to match Athos’. They still stumble, as Captain Treville tells them that new parabatai do, but it is easier working with someone. Mostly.

It was also strange.

  
  


“We should stop,” Aramis says after a two hours of work. “If we exhaust Athos training, he will be of no use if there is a demon attack or a rogue Downworlder to catch.”

“I am fine,” Athos mutters, leaning against the post at the bottom of the stairs and not putting weight on his injured leg.

“Aramis is right,” Treville says. “We need you at your best so this is enough for today.”

Athos sighs, in relief and in annoyance, and heads immediately for his room.

Captain Treville stops the other three before they can do the same. “I know it is his birthday,” he says in a low voice, “and I know you intend to take him out for it. Do not cause too much trouble. Do not bring him back with more than a hangover. And do not do anything that I have to apologize to the King for.”

D’Artagnan is a little startled to think of what these three who are considered by everyone to be the best of the best might have done before that made the captain give that warning. And he squares his shoulders when Treville focuses on him. “I believe I can trust you, son, but you should know that Porthos has been known to run a little wild when the opportunity presents itself and tries hard to get everyone to go along with him. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. I’m not telling you not to enjoy yourself, however.”

“But to enjoy myself in moderation,” the youngest man in the circle says.

Captain Treville smirked and nodded, casting an amused glance at the other two. “He’s fast becoming my favorite. Have fun and be good.”

Porthos drapes his arm around D’Artagnan’s shoulder as they follow Aramis to their own rooms. “He makes it sound worse than it was,” he says in a low voice.

D’Artagnan was not sure about that but he had other things on his mind. Like the fact that Athos did not seem eager to go out and celebrate. And another thing. “Does Aramis not like me?” he blurted out. “Have I done something to offend him? Something I need to apologize for?”

Pulling the younger man to a stop as Aramis’ door closes behind him, Porthos leans heavily against the wall. He doesn’t know just how to respond, not without breaking the confidence of his parabatai. “I can’t tell you everything because, like you said, it’s between parabatai but… no, he doesn’t not like you and you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

He has no choice but to accept that answer. He’s not entirely sure how much he accepts it, though, because he’d thought at first that Athos didn’t like him. Athos is not the least of his problems, it seems. But maybe Porthos is right that it’s about something other than D’Artagnan’s mere presence. He certainly hopes so. He felt it before the parabatai ceremony and he feels it now, even more - he wants to be a part of this group of warriors. He wants to belong.

Porthos never seemed to question his presence.

He is bound forever to Athos.

Aramis, who seemed so friendly before, is the only possible flaw in the ultimate plan now.

  
  


The celebration for Athos’ birthday starts earlier than D’Artagnan expects, it starts before the sun sets. It is also more subdued than Captain Treville seemed to think it would be, with a quiet supper at a mostly deserted inn on the Ile de France that will probably get rowdy later on. He finds himself sitting beside his parabatai of twenty-four hours and across from Aramis. Porthos orders for the group, explaining that the rabbit stew and hearty bread are Athos’ favorite. Athos neither agrees nor disagrees. But he does eat, so D’Artagnan does too.

But he hates eating without conversation so he says the first thing that comes to mind. “Captain Treville said I could ask the two of you about your parabatai ritual and what it’s like being parabatai,” he says to Porthos and Aramis.

“So ask,” Aramis says, tapping his spoon against the side of his bowl.

“I don’t want to,” he says, knowing he sounds a little like a child but not caring. “I want to ask how you two met. Did you know each other as children? Did Captain Treville arrange for your partnership?”

“He did,” Aramis replies, leaning forward to stir his stew with the nervous spoon. “I only knew of Treville a little when I met Porthos. You know he’s from the Court of Miracles so he knew Treville but… well, Treville was in Paris when we met and I worked out of the Monte Carlo Institute.”

Porthos swallowed an alarming amount of wine and nodded in agreement. “Then this one came back from Savoy with me and told Treville we wanted to do the Fiery Trial. I still say Aramis didn’t even ask me first but he says he did.”

“He did,” Athos says at the same time Aramis says, “I did.”

D’Artagnan looks from one to the other and shakes his head. He doesn’t know them well but expects that Aramis would have told Porthos before he told Treville. He wonders if he believes that because his parabatai says it is so. He wonders if he will ever doubt Athos’ word. “So what happened in Savoy?” he asks instead of saying anything else.

And he realizes he said the wrong thing when Aramis leans back and folds his arms over his chest, automatically closing himself off to something. He answers anyway. “We aren’t old enough to sit around and trade war stories,” he says in an even voice, “but since it relates to your question about parabatai… things happened in Savoy that we aren’t allowed to talk about.”

Athos raises an eyebrow. “Not allowed to talk about it?”

Aramis shoots him a look and then fixes his dark eyes on D’Artagnan. “Something similar will happen to you at some point, D’Artagnan. You will simply have the benefit of a parabatai to help you through such a dark time. That, you see, is what Porthos did for me. He came barreling in with all his enthusiasm for life and love… of life and he brought me out of a very bad place. I don’t want to talk about what happened in Savoy, not today, so all that matters is that Porthos was there when I didn’t know I needed him and now we are parabatai.”

Porthos has a look of awe on his face, which he quickly replaces with a grin as he bumps his shoulder against his brother’s. “No regrets, then?”

“No,” Aramis says with a shake of his head. “You?”

Athos raises his cup when Porthos has no regrets either. “To the bonds of brotherhood and to never regretting them.”

“To adding new brothers to the mix,” Porthos says with a wink in D’Artagnan’s direction.

“To duty and to honor… and to being surrounded by men who understand it,” Aramis says after a long minute’s thought.

D’Artagnan knows he is next and that he must make a toast. The others made ones that were teasing and serious at the same time. He doesn’t know how to be that yet. So he says the first thing that comes to mind, something he believes the others will understand and appreciate. He raises his cup a little bit higher and says, “To a brotherhood in shadows.”

  
  
  


 


	11. Chapter 11

“I have to ask,” D’Artagnan says as Constance pulls him inside her house and presses a kiss to his lips, “are you certain you are married? In all the time I have been in Paris, your husband has been in Brussels. Are you certain he exists?”

She laughs and pulls the pins from her curling red hair, letting it fall down over her mostly bare shoulders. “He exists. I didn’t make him up just to toy with you, D’Artagnan. And he’s in Florence now, I think.”

“Florence? Selling his cloths to the Medicis?”

“More or less. King Louis was convinced that my husband was the best cloth merchant in all of France, and highly skilled at creating beautiful fabrics,” she adds as she pours wine into two glasses, “so he sent my husband to his mother to be in her royal employ.”

D’Artagnan does not know a lot about fabrics and cloth merchants but he suspects that Monsieur Bonacieux is not all that much different from another man in the business. “King Louis took notice of your husband’s salesmanship skills? Our king does like fine clothes but he does not strike me as a man who bothers with where his clothes and drapes come from.”

“Saying that might be treasonous,” she warns with a smile, “but I won’t report you. What does it matter, anyway? My husband will be wherever Marie de Medici is for the foreseeable future while I, his poor and defenseless wife, must look after myself here.”

He can’t help the laugh that escapes and he doesn’t really try. “Poor and defenseless?”

Constance smirks and hands him a glass, gesturing for him to follow her into the bedroom. “Enough about my husband on our night off. How is your parabatai?”

“He says he is entirely recovered from his wounds. Aramis disagrees. Rather loudly. It is very tense at the garrison; Athos pacing like a caged animal, Aramis hovering sternly like a priest, and Porthos lounging like a bear ready to hibernate or attack at any second.” He swallows a gulp of wine and grins at here. “Why do you think I came here?”

Sitting on the trunk at the foot of the bed, she pats the spot beside her. “I would hope, sir, because you wanted my company more than you only wanted to avoid the company of others.”

He laughs and pulls her closer as he sits down. “How can I help it if I can achieve two desired things by coming here? But you will always be most important, ma’am.”

Constance giggles and leans to set her glass on the floor. “Don’t call me ma’am, it makes me sound old. I am young.”

She proves herself very young a few moments later, catching D’Artagnan by surprise and flipping him onto his back in the middle of the bed. She straddles him and pauses, her skirts flowing over them both. “I don’t think my husband will come back,” she says softly, leaning over him, “So if you can’t live with that, I understand. Just tell me now.”

In answer, D’Artagnan reaches up and pulls her down as he arches his back so that their lips meet. “Live with that makes it sound like a chore. I don’t care how I am with you. I just want to be with you.”

It is all she needs to hear and she unties the strings on his shirt.

Her corset and underclothes are gone quickly, tossed to the floor by D’Artagnan just as they are every time he and Constance meet this way. It doesn’t escape him that they can meet this way much more often if Marie de Medici keeps Monsieur Bonacieux in her employ. He shakes his head to rid himself of thoughts of the other man, and it is made easier when Constance attacks his lips with her own.

\------------------

Constance wakes up in a tangle of sheets and bare limbs. D’Artagnan is still sleeping soundly beside her, trapping her arm between his shoulder and the pillow. Dawn has barely broken over Paris but she needs to get up. As a half-Nephilim, half-Seelie, she is already bridging two worlds and today, at the request of Her Most Christian Majesty Queen Anne, she will begin bridging a third. Constance had been to the Louvre with her husband selling cloths a few times and, it seemed, the Queen had noticed her. She suspects that Queen Anne is behind her husband’s assignment to the staff of King Louis’ mother but she doesn’t know for sure. What she does know is that she has been assigned as chief lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne and has been assigned a room at the Louvre.

Receiving a handwritten message from the Queen the day before had confirmed at least some of her suspicions, telling her that she was free to make use of the room as she wished and would certainly keep her marital home as well. Fearing she was reading too much into it, she wonders if the Queen knows about her relationship with D’Artagnan and is trying to play matchmaker.

She can’t imagine why that would be.

In any case, Captain Treville has also given her a job at the Louvre - to act as his eyes and ears in the Queen’s circle and to warn him of any danger spoken of there or any danger to the Queen. He assured her as well that there would be Shadowhunters in the Louvre that she could go to if the danger is immediate and there is no time to go to him.

Constance is proud that he trusts her so much because the Nephilim do not often trust women in positions like this, especially if they were not fully Nephilim.

She wiggles her arm out from under D’Artagnan and dresses quickly and quietly in her best dress, one sent from the Louvre with the message. Being part-Nephilim and part-Seelie, she is flexible in ways that most women are not and manages to do up the hooks on the dress without waking him for help. Constance keeps herself from waking him up, like she badly wants to do, because she knows he has been working hard and will be working hard. He should get to sleep in when he gets the chance, especially when she has to leave anyway.

Confident that Athos will come for him or he will wake up on his own, she brushes a kiss on his forehead and leaves for the Louvre just as Paris truly begins to come to life for the day.

\------------------------------------------

After Athos' birthday life returns to normal. They continue their duties for King and Country, and for the Shadow World. Athos injuries are healing well and Porthos is really happy to see his brother and the boy working well together. It's another story with Aramis. After the ritual and the night out his parabatai is sulking. He's always in a bad mood and even if the others don't notice the little hints Aramis gives, he knows that his friend is not sleeping well at night. He looks at his left where Aramis is standing waiting for Treville’s orders for today and he sees the musketeer rubbing at his right temple like he does when a headache is coming or he had nightmares during the night. The fact that his hat is covering his eyes and he has his head bent means that Aramis is suffering a headache induced by nightmares. He starts to turn to him when Treville's voice startles him.

“Porthos, You'll be at the Palace at the Queen's request. You should be there in half an hour. Is that clear?” Treville says. Porthos nods, focusing on Aramis as soon as the Captain gives an order to another musketeer.

“Aramis, is everything alright?” he whispers, getting closer to his brother.

“Yes, don't worry,” he replies, keeping his voice low and not looking Porthos. He knows that Aramis won't talk about it anytime soon so he leaves it be.

Again Treville's voice echoes in the courtyard. “Athos, Aramis and D'Artagnan... where is the boy?” he asks looking Athos.

“I don't know Captain but he'll be ready for the day. Any orders?” Athos says.

“You'll patrol Le Marais and Notre Dame. And Athos? You have one hour to find D'Artagnan or he'll clean the stables for the next two weeks,” he says, climbing the stairs.

“I'll go to Madame Bonacieux’s house,” Athos states as soon as Treville closed the door of his office. They know where to find the boy when he's not in the garrison.

“I must go to the Palace. Athos...” He calls his brother pointing at Aramis and pleading silently for Athos to take care of him during his absence. The musketeer nods in confirmation and he runs outside the garrison.

Porthos squeezes Aramis' shoulder and heads to get ready.

\------------------

The Queen almost squeals when she sees Porthos enter her quarter. She is so happy that she almost forgets her ladies in waiting are there too. She really like this musketeer. Not that his other three friends are a bad looking but Porthos has something different from the others. She doesn't know if it's what he talked about during their previous encounters or how he treats her every time, but she loves it.

He bows with a little “Majesty” escaping his lips and then he stands.

“Porthos, it is some time that I don't walk in the gardens and it's a lovely day to stay confined in my rooms. Would you accompany me outside?” she explains.

“It will be my honor, Your Majesty,” he replies, smiling at her.

She turn to one of her lady. “Juliette, please, take care of the Dauphin during my absence. And call me if he needs something”.

During the period Porthos has been the Queen's bodyguard, she gave birth to a beautiful and healthy boy. As is tradition, until his christening, the future King of France will be known only as the Dauphin, and only then the King will reveal his name. The lady nods, bows and leaves the room. The Queen stands from her place on the couch and start walking.

“Let Constance know where we are,” she says, leaving the room followed by a surprised Porthos.

\------------------

They walk for awhile, Porthos following the Queen a step behind. They arrive to a little clearing where some benches and a fountain create a circle. The Queen sits, turning her lovely face to the sun and closing her eyes. Porthos stands next to her without moving a muscle.

He's so focused on his task that at first he doesn't hear the Queen calls for him. “Monsieur Porthos?”

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty,” he says.

“Don't worry. I asked if you want to sit with me,” she explains, smiling at him.

“I don't think it's appropriate, Your Majesty,” he answers, looking the Queen in the eyes.

“Please, Porthos. You’ve been standing there for what seems like hours and I feel lonely here. I promise, when Constance arrives, you can take your place again,” she pleads him.

There's something in her that make his stomach does strange things. He's not so sure they are always good things but he doesn't want to know the truth, for now. And when she looks at him like that he can't say no to her. So he nods and sits next to her.

“So, from your face before, you know Constance Bonacieux outside of here but you didn't know she is one of my ladies in waiting,” she states.

“Yes, I know her for some time now, but she never mentioned that she works here.” He doesn't know if the Queen knows what Constance is, or that she is with D'Artagnan when her husband is away, so he keeps quiet.

The Queen explains that she is a new recruit but she doesn't say how and when she started, so Porthos doesn't ask.

There's something lingering between them and this time is not his stomach doing funny thing.

“Is there something that worries you, Your Majesty?” he asks when she doesn't talk anymore.

“What? No, don't worry, Porthos. My son's governess is sick and I don't know if she spread something to him. He's so little and I can't think about him sick,” she confesses.

Porthos sees this woman, this powerful woman, worried about her son, like every other woman. Maybe is that or the fact that he remembers his own mother, so sick and tired that he couldn't stand it, gave everything to him, let herself die of starvation, if the fever didn't take her before. He put a hand on hers rubbing softly and trying to comfort her. Even if she says she isn't worried Porthos knows that she is. And not only for her son.

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty.” Constance's voice breaks the spell and Porthos bolts upright in an instant.

“Don't worry, Constance. Porthos was good company in your absence,” she says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. The Queen stands slipping her arm in Constance's. “Let's walk,” she prompts. Porthos follows.

\------------------

Porthos doesn't listen to a word to what the women are talking about. From the moment he took his hand from the Queen's, his stomach had started a rebellion. He keeps rubbing his hand where the warmth of the Queen hand lingers, and he can't stop thinking about her.

So it takes a moment to him to register the screaming coming from a bush. When he realizes that the Queen is not beside Constance but she turned a corner some moments ago, he starts running. What he finds freezes the blood in his veins.

There, lying in the middle of the path, there is the Royal Governess, dead.

  
  
  


 

 

  
  


 


	12. Chapter 12

“Your Majesty?” Porthos asks as soon as he is near the Queen. He puts his hand on her shoulder, trying to coax her to look away from the gruesome spectacle in front of them.

She turns, horrified, and Porthos has only a moment to catch her before she hits the ground.

He scoops her up and with a quick “Stay here, I'll bring her inside and come back” he runs for the Palace, leaving Constance to guard the corpse.

He doesn't care if he receives strange looks from the people inside the palace, his only purpose is to bring the Queen to the safety of her quarters. He lays her on the bed, calling to a lady to help the Queen as soon as she regains consciousness. She awakes with a start and Porthos is ready to calm her.

“Your Majesty, it's alright. I've got you,” he says, leaning forward her.

“Marguerite... she's my baby's governess,” she sobs.

“I know. I know. I will take care of her. Don't worry.” He tries to reassure her. She grips his hand when he explains that he will leave her with her ladies in waiting.

“I'll come back. I promise,” he whispers. He bows and joins Constance outside.  


\------------------  


When he reaches Constance, she's standing some feet away from Marguerite, her gaze fixed ahead.

“Constance, are you alright?” he asks. She nods and closes her eyes.

“You don't have to stay here if you don't want to,” he says. He doesn't know if she is used to seeing dead people.

“No, I will stay. I'll help you to find who did this,” she answers resolutely.

“Good, because I promised the Queen I'll go back with answers,” he states before crouching beside the governess' body.

At first he looks for some kind of wounds. He moves away the girl's hair to look for head wounds. He touches every part of the exposed skin and then the dress searching for blood. He finds nothing. Constance looks intently at him and when she sees the disappointed look Porthos gives her, she crouches next to him. Two pair of eyes are better than one, it's even better if one of those are a fairy's eyes. Porthos lets her inspect the body, using only her eyes. At the end her gaze returns to Marguerite's face and her hands. Constance takes one of them in hers and start looking carefully at the perfect nails. After that she looks at the governess mouth and then at the blonde hair.

“Porthos, I found something,” she murmurs, still with her eyes on the pale face. The musketeers gets closer and waits.

“Look at her hair. Do you notice the almost white roots? It's like she dyed it but I know for sure that only prostitutes and other women do it. And she was too young to do that,” she explains. She holds up Marguerite's hand and points at her nails.“See these little blue crescent moon where the nails meet the skin? And the blue on her lips? I think it's some kind of poison. I don't know what it is but I know for sure she was poisoned.”

He swears loudly. He knows exactly what it is.

“It's yin fen. We burst into a warehouse some days ago in which demons were packing and selling yin fen. Athos said there was a warlock inside, but he vanished as soon as he saw him and D'Artagnan. We thought only Downworlders were involved in this but apparently there's something bigger behind it. Someone bigger and with connection inside the Louvre,” he explains. He doesn't like where the train of thoughts lead him.

“Do you think Rochefort is involved in this?” Constance asks, straightening up and looking at him from her raised position. That is exactly what Porthos is thinking.

“I think he is. Maybe instead of getting rid of the Nephilim nobility as first thing he tried some methods of killing with lowest people, like this poor girl,” he reflects aloud.

“So we can accuse him of her death,” Constance exclaims.

“We can't. We need proof that it’s him behind this. And I don't think our Comte will tell us willingly.” Porthos knows that this 'little inconvenience' won't bother Rochefort much. They need stronger proof that he's behind this and the yin fen trafficking.

“Do you think he didn't do this himself?” Constance as always go straight to the point.

“No, of course he didn't want to get his hands dirty, so he had to corrupt someone to do it,” Porthos answers. He's already thinking about who really gave yin fen to the poor governess.

“Someone close to her?” Constance asks. She doesn't even finish the question that Porthos is upright, swearing and running to the Queen's chambers. If the killer is someone close to the governess, it's close to the Queen too.  


\------------------  


At the end the only connection between the Queen and the governess is a servant.

The Queen explains that he is the one who came to tell her that Marguerite was sick the night before. When Porthos asks if the boy was around the Palace for a lot of time before he was hired as the governess' servant, the Queen tries to think if she saw him before her son was born and when she comes to the conclusion that she saw him only after hiring the girl, Porthos knows that someone put the boy there, to take an eye to the Royal Governess, the Dauphin and the Queen.

“Your Majesty, did you see the boy this morning? Before I came here?” Porthos asks. He hopes that her answers will be a yes.

“No, I didn't see him. I was going to call for him to ask about Marguerite, when you came,” she answers instead.

Porthos swears mentally and starts pacing the room. Constance, who joined him as soon he arrived outside the Queen's chambers, watches him carefully for any sign of ideas.

“Your Majesty, do you know his name?” he asks after some minutes in silence.

“Antoine... Antoine Benoit,” she answers. She's still trembling and playing with her hair. She reminds him of Aramis after an awful nightmare. The only thing he want to do in those moment is hug Aramis tightly and protect him against all the evil in the world. Now he wants to do that to the Queen. If he only could send away the nightmares she'll have from now on.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on his mission. “I'll go ask for him while Constance stay here with you,” he says. The Queen is about to say something but he bows and leaves.

He asks everyone in the end, every servant, valet, and sometimes at nobles too. But nobody saw the boy this morning. So his mission was complete. Porthos swears for the third time today and return to the Queen. He's about to knock when a maiden approaches him.

“Monsieur? I heard you ask for Antoine Benoit. I didn't see him this morning but maybe you can find him at home,” she whispers. Porthos wants to kiss the girl.

“Where does he live?” he asks, smiling.

“In Rue Saint-Paul, Le Marais,” she answers.

He smiles again, thanking the girl and knocks on the door. He has a message to send.  


\-------------  


Aramis jumps out of the way as Captain Treville rides into the square where he, Athos, and D'Artagnan stand in the shadow of Notre Dame. He rode like he was on fire. Aramis whistles to get the attention of Athos and D’Artagnan as they stand on the other side of the square questioning two beggars and then he jogs up to his captain. Treville waits until all three are around him before he pulls a folded, sealed sheet of paper from his pocket.

The captain reads it quickly and looks down at his men. “Since you three are so eager to hear this, I will tell you. The message is from Porthos. The Dauphin’s governess was murdered at the Louvre. There are signs that she had ingested yin fen, perhaps over a period of time. And the only connection between the Queen and the governess is a man named Antoine Benoit. Go to Rue Saint-Paul in Le Marais and find him, or anything about him.”

“I should go to the Louvre and help Porthos,” Aramis says.

“No.” Treville waves the note at him. “Constance is there. She will help him investigate further and they will send word if they need backup but they do not want to tip their hand just yet.”

“Constance!” D’Artagnan splutters, taking a step toward the where their horses are tied.

Athos catches his parabatai by the elbow. “You forget she has more experience than you do. And Porthos will keep her safe. We have our orders.”  


\----------------  


The trio arrives at Rue Saint-Paul half an hour later. They walk under the medieval archways in search of their target but do not ask anyone for him because they do not want to tip him off and send him fleeing, if Antoine Benoit’s neighbors might be in league with him. Instead, at Aramis’ suggestion, they look for any traces of color that symbolize what someone who works as a servant at the Louvre might wear.

And they find it hung on a clothesline stretched between two buildings - a doublet still dripping with water and a small stain on the sleeve. It’s obviously not washing day in the village, since there is nothing else on the lines, and it is obvious which window the doublet belongs to. They slip into the building under the watchful eyes of the people in the square.

“Don’t servants usually live at the palace?” D’Artagnan whispers as they climb the stairs.

“Usually,” Athos tells him, still glad for his parabatai’s willingness to ask about the things he does not know. “It’s not likely that this is his apartment, unless he is absolutely corrupted, but it could belong to his parents and he comes here to visit.”

“Or hide,” Aramis mutters, bringing up the rear. “If he’s guilty, of course.”

Athos stops on the landing that matches the clothesline. A brief smile flashes on his lips as D’Artagnan motions to another open door and Athos knows the younger man means he will go in and make sure the suspect does not climb out onto the small balcony and drop to the street or hide in another apartment. He bangs his fist on the door. “Antoine Benoit! Open the door!”

An old woman, bent from years of hard work, opens the door and glares at him. “What do you want?”

“Antoine Benoit, as I said,” Athos says levelly. “Your son, I assume.”

She narrows her eyes at being caught. “Who are you?”

“The King’s Musketeers,” Aramis says, “obviously. Is that not Antoine Benoit trying to scramble out the window and being knocked back in by another of us?”

The woman throws up her hands. “Fine. Take him into custody. He’s always been trouble.”

“And you were covering for him,” Athos says as D’Artagnan forces the man with the bright patch of white hair, no doubt dyed by the use of yin fen, into a chair, “allowing him to escape. You obviously knew he could be guilty of something. Tell me why I should not take you into custody as well.”

“Because my son won’t talk,” she says, turning her glare to her son, “but I will. I know things that the King’s Musketeers will want to know.”

“About?” Aramis drawls, leaning against the open door with his hand on his pistol.

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“Yes,” Athos says quickly, motioning for D’Artagnan to get the man on his feet. “Why not? We’re taking you and Antoine both back for questioning. One of us will stay here and search your home for anything that might be evidence.”

Aramis sighs, knowing he is being left to search and hoping that Athos will send someone back to help him. The place is a mess and evidence is probably buried deep under the clutter and grime.

\----------------

Antoine Benoit denies everything.

And D’Artagnan suspects he is lying about everything when he denies everything.

The palace servant even claims his shock of white hair is thanks to a terrifying moment falling off the Pont Neuf and into the Seine rather than from continued use of yin fen. The silver flecks in his otherwise green eyes prove that to be a lie. He claims he does not know Marguerite and that he never spoke to her. And then he describes the chain her rosary hangs on, and the description matches details Porthos included in the original message as a way of testing for lies and truths.

“Where do you get the yin fen?” Athos demands in a voice Antoine probably hears as boredom but D’Artagnan knows is teetering on the edge of violence and force. “Yin fen is not available to people like you, Benoit. Tell us where you get it and things will go easier for you.”

“All sorts of drugs at the Louvre, there are,” he blurts out. “The servants all have things. I don’t know what yin fen is. I’ve taken other things, though.”

Athos leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and narrows his eyes at the man sitting beside his mother at the table. “And these things you’ve taken, you didn’t give any of it to Marguerite, the Dauphin’s governess, at any point?”

Antoine says nothing.

D’Artagnan and Athos take this as a sign of guilt and they prepare to leave him in the room to be collected by gaolers from the Chatelet.

And then the old woman speaks.

“Rochefort,” she hisses. “It’s Rochefort that’s got my son involved in all this. I don’t know if he’s the one that killed the girl or if he had my son do it but he’s sent his men to my house before and left messages for Antoine. I recognized his crest on their cloaks. Now, will you protect us, Musketeers?”

Having the information he wanted and believing it, Athos stepped forward and leaned over the table. “Madame, there is no safer place for you and Antoine than the Chatelet.”

  


 


	13. Chapter 13

 “Please, don't leave,” the Queen whispers as soon as they're alone. Constance has already left for the garrison and he remained  behind to ensure that the Queen is alright and someone will take care of the poor governess.

He sighs and, crouching in front of her, smiles. “I'm staying here, until you ask me to go.”

She smiles, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Thank you, Porthos. For what you've done."

He wants to tell her that it was his duty to do it, but he knows that it's not the whole truth. So he opts for a truthful “you're welcome.”

They stay like that. The Queen of France, sitting at the end of her bed, hair disheveled, face pale, and her hands tight in Porthos'. The musketeer, crouching in front of her, face tired, his eyes fixed on the woman in front of him, and his hand tight in hers.

Then, something happens. In a moment they aren't the Queen and the musketeer anymore. They are Anna and Porthos. Two people so completely different but at the same time so similar.

She smiles, a little nervous smile, and she brings his hand to her mouth, leaving a small kiss on it. Then she stands, bringing Porthos with her. She slides her hands on Porthos doublet and he wouldn't dare move a muscle. She unbuttons it, taking off the belts and weapons in the process. Then she slips it off his shoulders, letting the coat fall to the ground.

“The King...” Porthos whispers when her face is close to him.

“We have an agreement. I can have lovers as he has,” she whispers, only an inch away from his mouth. It's all Porthos needs to know. He crashes his mouth with hers in a long passionate kiss.

He takes off all the pins in her hair, letting it down on her shoulders, touching every part of her naked skin. Loosening her corset is an another matter. She helps him, smiling and grinning every time he starts to swear aloud.

When even her skirt is in a bundle on the floor he scoops her up, laying both of them on the bed.

They kiss and touch, discovering each other. Anna traces every scar and rune on Porthos’ body and he, in return, caresses every inch of her skin while kissing where his hands were moments ago. He teases her for what feels like an eternity and when he finally makes love with her, she is so aroused that she moans, gripping his shoulders and kissing him hard. She pants and writhes and moans every time he touches, kisses and bites her.

When she comes, she never feels something so amazing and powerful. It's like she never experienced sex in all her life. Because with Louis it’s always so impersonal and cold, with the only purpose to have an heir that she started to think that is the rule. Porthos is something else entirely. He takes time, focusing on her pleasure and not only his. Discovering where she’s more sensitive and focusing on that until he finds some new place on her skin that needs attention.  And the things he does with his tongue! The merely thought of what he can do with that tongue make her blush.

Porthos looks at her like she is the most beautiful and precious woman in all the world, he kisses her tenderly and moving away, laying next to her, still with some part of his body touching her.

She sighs and turns her head toward him. “That was... amazing,” she confesses, blushing furiously.

He laughs, tracing a path from her cheek to her breast. “Yes, it was,” he murmurs, still with a finger on her skin.

She closes her eyes, relaxing. “I want this to continue,” she says after a while.

Porthos smiles. “Me too. If Your Majesty...” he's cut off with a delicate finger on his lips.

“None of that. I'm not Your Majesty right now, or from this moment on. I'm Anne, only Anne for you,” she scolds him.

Still with the finger on his mouth he answers. “Yes, Anna,”. She kisses him then. He smiles against her mouth, trying to dominate it but failing miserably. They go on, kissing and touching each other, like they haven't had enough of the other.

She ends the kiss, a little breathless and flushed, and he can't stop smiling. She is so beautiful. Anna, then, takes her place again, placing her head on his shoulder and tracing a strange rune on his hipbone.

“What is this?” she asks after tracing it several times.

“It's a rune,” he replies, looking intently at her finger.

“I know it's a rune, but I want to know its purpose,” she explains.

“It's my parabatai rune. Aramis placed it where he put his first stitches on me. If you look closely you can still see the scar beneath it. Aramis has his own on the neck,” he tells her.

She hums letting him know she's listening, but he sees that her hand is now lying  motionless on his stomach. He reaches for the cover, placing it on her and himself.

“Sleep, my Queen. I'll be here when you wake up,” he whispers, kissing her head tenderly.

\---------------------

A little bit bored with his parabatai on duty at the Louvre, Aramis is sitting slumped on the steps that lead to Treville’s office. The sun is bright and warm, making him sleepy in his laziness. Athos and D’Artagnan are training in a corner of the garrison yard, both with their shirts off as they do exercises to build strength and stamina. It is not a bad thing to watch. And Aramis is not the only one watching.

“Aren’t you supposed to be tending to the Queen?” he asks Constance.

Sitting on a bench against the wall, she shakes her head but does not take her eyes off her lover. “We do not want to change schedules and alert Rochefort to what we know,” she explains, telling him what she suggested to Treville and he accepted, “so I am not on duty as a Shadowhunter or as a lady-in-waiting at the moment.”

Aramis smirks as D’Artagnan inadvertently entertains Constance by doing pull-ups on a bar meant for hanging saddles and showing off every muscle in his arms and back. “So you’ve decided to take the afternoon off and admire D’Artagnan instead?”

Unfazed by his teasing, because she is used to it and because she knows it is said with brotherly love in his heart, she smirks too. “Is it so different than you lying like a contented cat in the sun and admiring Athos?”

He sits up with a start. “What?”

Constance gives him a challenging look.

“I… what… how… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammers.

She sighs and gets up, moving to sit beside him on the step. “Relax, like you were,” she tells him. “If you look like you’re on guard for a demon attack everyone will eavesdrop. If you look like you’re nearly napping no one will care what we talk about.”

“How do you know that?” he demands. “And what if I don’t want to talk about what you want to talk about?”

“Because that is how one survives palace intrigue,” she says in a bored voice, not missing that he follows her instructions and leans back on his elbows. She leans against the post and closes her eyes against the early afternoon sun. “And I don’t care if you don’t want to talk about what I want to talk about. And you do know what I’m talking about, by the way.”

Aramis gives a huff of frustration that he hopes sounds like a bored huff to anyone passing by. “Tell me what you’re talking about, then. Just pretend like I don’t know.”

Constance chooses her words carefully, wanting to show her friend that she supports him completely without making him resent that she knows what is in his heart. It is a delicate balance. “I won’t say a blind man can see it, Aramis. That came to mind first but it isn’t true. You are very careful to hide your heart and you do it well.”

“Then how can you claim to know anything?” he demands, realizing too late that he’s admitted to at least some of what she says to know as true.

She squints at him and exhales slowly. She will be careful not to say any names in case her words carry on the wind. “I do know something because that is what happens when someone cares about others. The person who cares learns to recognize looks of love in the faces of those he or she cares for. And the person who cares learns when it is time to tell someone she cares about that she wants him to know that she knows and that she wants him to be happy and to have love.”

Aramis’ stomach is in knots and his mind is racing. “I’m not supposed to love…” he says, letting the rest trail off because she obviously knows what he’s not saying.

“Why?” she demands. “Why not?”

“Because…”

“That’s not an answer, Aramis, and it’s not a reason.” She slides closer to him and leans against his shoulder, something they have done a hundred times before and no one will think anything of if they’re watching, and drops her voice. “I’m not saying you should run across the yard and kiss… someone. I’m only saying that I know what you want. I’m telling you that I am on your side. I want you to have it and I will help you get it if I can.”

He can’t admit it yet, he can’t tell her that she is right. At least he can’t say the words. But he wants her to know that he understands. She looks nervous too, so he needs to tell her that he’s not upset about anything that she’s said. So he bumps his shoulder against hers and kisses her cheek, like he would do in any other moment. “You’re awfully wise and kind for someone so young, Constance,” he tells her, whispering the words in her ear.

She breathes a sigh of relief and smiles. He isn’t mad. And she isn’t wrong. “Any wise advice for young little me, then?” she says, her voice teasing. “Aside from running across the yard and kissing… someone?”

“Well, you absolutely should do that,” he chuckles, “because I want to see the look on his face when you do. Advice, though? Don’t ever change.”

Constance nods once, leaning forward to straighten her skirts so she doesn’t trip on them when she gets up, possibly to kiss D’Artagnan. “Never. Not a chance.”

“Good,” he says, catching her arm before she gets up. “One more question for my dear friend who sees all? Am I wrong about… someone else’s looks?”

She ruffles his disheveled hair and shakes her head. “No. You’re not wrong.”

Aramis releases a breath of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding.

\---------------------

Athos knows there's something troubling Aramis as soon as Constance leaves the garrison. She was talking with him and then, before returning home, she kissed D'Artagnan on the lips, leaving the boy speechless and useless. So he calls an end to the training and goes to the table. Aramis is looking at him with his stare unfocused. He's sure the other still has the headache and the light patrolling day turning into a mission had only worsened the thing.

He pours some wine and drinks it in a sip, still thinking about Aramis, when his parabatai sits next to him. He still has the blissful look and Athos can't help but smirk.

“She said she is waiting for me at home,” D'Artagnan says, looking ahead.

“What are you waiting?” Athos asks, serving a full glass of wine to the boy.

“Will you two be alright?” the musketeer replies with a question, pointing to Aramis.

“Yes. I can take care of him by myself until Porthos comes back.” He smirks again.

“What's wrong with him and his temple?” D'Artagnan is still looking at the musketeer leaning on the stairs.

Athos notices that Aramis is rubbing a precise point on his head and swears mentally. He's doing the same motion for the whole day now and Athos dismissed it, blaming the headache.

“Savoy,” he whispers, talking to himself instead of with D'Artagnan. But the boy hears and he asks. “What happened that no one is allowed to talk about it?”.

Athos shakes his head saying that it's not his story nor his place to tell him. So D'Artagnan does the only thing he can think of. He stands up and heads for Aramis, asking about it.

Athos groans, closing his eyes, avoiding the two on the steps. He tries to shut out most of the conversation, but he hears exactly the not so veiled threat Aramis is growling at D'Artagnan. “If you ask one more time about Savoy, D'Artagnan, I'll punch you so hard you'll beg me to kick you,”.

He then stands up and leaves the garrison.

“Good job, D'Artagnan. Please, next time one of us mentions Savoy don't even bother to ask him something. He'll kill you and it will be all your fault,” Athos says, helping the boy stand up. They all know what happened there but nobody wants to have a reminder. Seeing Aramis everyday and how he's dealing with it is enough.

\---------------------

She's following him for some time now. It's strange that Shadowhunters have their senses developed but when they confront mundane feelings they're so human. And they don't see dangers when they face it. This one especially is sulking. She could stand in front of him, showing her fangs and stating that she wants to drain the entire city and he wouldn't move a finger. He's an easy prey.

She watches him enter a tavern, searching for the farther table, and heading for it. She doesn't go inside, not wanting to attract unwanted attention, but she walks around the tavern, setting herself beside the window where she can hear and watches the musketeer closely. What her husband finds in him is beyond her comprehension.

  


 


	14. Chapter 14

No one comes back that night. No Porthos, no D'Artagnan and, worse of all, no Aramis. Athos is worried. He knows that if something happened to Aramis, Porthos would know, storming inside the garrison with the news, but the sickening feeling simply doesn't go away. He waits at their table until every other musketeer is asleep then he goes to bed.

After a restless night filled with dreams full of blood, fangs, and dark alleys, Athos decides to leave his bed and start the day. He knocks on Aramis' door several times, calling him. Nothing. He rubs a hand on his face and moves to Porthos' room. He repeats the sequence, knocking and calling, but still nobody answers him.

Frustrated and worried, Athos sits alone at their table debating between telling Treville what happened the day before or sneaking away and finding Aramis on his own. Serge the cook brings him the breakfast but he only manages some bites of bread before he leaves it there. He'll ask Treville to go searching for Aramis.

He starts climbing the stairs when something catches his eyes. He turns, finding a small forget-me-not on a step. He feels the blood freezes in his veins. He scans the area searching for her. Of course, she isn't there. She's a vampire, and they don't come out in daylight. He sighs deeply and steps ahead. Only to stop on the next step. Another forget-me-not is stuck in the lock of the kitchen door. He turns, collecting the one on the stairs and the other, then he looks closely the courtyard. He was so deep in thoughts when he sat at the table that he didn't notice that there is a trail of forget-me-nots from the stairs to outside of the garrison. He goes from a flower to the other, picking and collecting them in the meantime.

The trail ends suddenly in a deserted square. He looks everywhere for some hints but nothing. No people and no noise of any sort. He's paranoid and he has lost time following a ghost instead of searching for Aramis. He turns to walk away when a shining object catches his eyes. He follows the object to a narrow, dark alley knowing that someone is hiding in the shadow.

“What took you so long?” she says as greeting.

“Anne,” he breathes, his eyes finally adjusting to the light.

“I'm not her anymore. She died that day. I'm Milady now,” she snarls at him, showing her fangs.

“Did you want me here so you could attack me and kill me?” he asks angrily.

“I want you dead but not like this,” she answers, lowering her voice.

“So what?” He doesn't have time for her games.

“I think it could make you happy if I brought your stray cat back,” she says pointing to what Athos thought was a bundle of dirty clothes.

“Aramis,” he whispers, crouching next to his brother. “What did you do to him?” he growls, running a hand in Aramis' hair.

“Nothing. He was drunk and miserable when I found him. He probably has a hangover now,” she explains, looking at her nails in annoyance.

“If I find some scratches or bruises on him, I swear I'll...” He doesn't have time to finish his sentence because she shoves him against the wall, her hands around his neck and her fangs near his face. “You what? You'll kill me? I'm sorry, darling, but I'm already dead!” she hisses. She then lets go of his throat and steps backward, away from him.

Athos slides to the floor breathing hard. He's angry with her, for what she is and what she have done to him. He's angry with her for Aramis, for what she could have done to him. But at the same time he's grateful, she brought him back to him. He crawls to his brother, touching him in search of some injuries. He needs to know he's alive and well before bringing him to the garrison. A moan of distress leaves Aramis' lips and Athos turns his gaze to her.

“Alright, maybe he has some bruises, but only because he fell when he left the tavern,” she confesses, still some steps away from them. He leaves her be when something else escapes his brother's mouth. “Marsac.” It's only a whisper but it's all it takes for Athos to bring Aramis closer and start patting him, whispering to him. “I'm here, Aramis. I've got you. You're safe.”

He hears a soft “ugh” coming from Milady but he doesn't pay attention to her. He has his brother back and it's all it matters now.

Aramis is in distress, whining and moaning, soft words escaping his lips. Athos doesn't want to leave yet but he knows the sooner he gets Aramis back to the garrison, the sooner he could take care of him, so he lifts Aramis with some effort, and when they're both upright, he slides an arm across Aramis’ back, gripping the leather of his doublet, and the other steadying him. He turns, inclined to thank Milady but she's gone.

He doesn't care. He knows they'll meet again but for now, the most important thing is that Aramis is back with him.

He smiles when the other musketeer slumps a little bit against him, his face pressed in the crook of his neck. All he can think when he drags Aramis across the square is that from now on everything will be alright.  


\------------  


“Here, Your Majesty?” D’Artagnan asks, glancing across Constance to where Queen Anne rides on her own black mare. The softly running stream with a patch of flat, thick grass seems like the perfect place for a picnic - that the Queen and Constance will have while he and Porthos stand watch.

Anne twists in her saddle and looks back over her shoulder. “No,” she decides, pointing one gloved hand to the south, “let’s go further down the stream.”

Porthos shrugs when D’Artagnan seems to expect him to explain, but he does turn to see what his Anna might have seen. All that is there is the highest tower of the Louvre. She does not want to be within sight of the palace. It is explanation enough for him and he spurs his horse forward, leaving D’Artagnan to bring up the rear on the narrow path.  


They travel fifteen minutes before the Queen gives a gasp. “Here! We’ll picnic here. Constance, did you wear a chemise under your dress? There’s a pool, we could swim.”

Dismounting quickly, before she hops off in excitement and gets her skirts tangled in the stirrups, Porthos holds up his arms to help her down. “I thought you were picnicking, Your Majesty,” he says, keeping her title because he does not know what Constance truly knows or what she has told D’Artagnan, “not swimming.”

Her feet on the soft, mossy ground, Anne bends to unlace her boots. “This patch is shaded, cool, and soft, so the food will not spoil if we don’t immediately eat. The pool of water is crystal clear and gentle. I know you brought a half dozen other musketeers who are keeping a wide circle around us and this place can be watched from all angles. Is this not the perfect place to picnic, Porthos?”

D’Artagnan glances at Constance as he helps her down, surprised that she doesn’t seem surprised by the Queen not calling him Monsieur Porthos as she does everyone else. It also appears that Porthos is blushing under Her Majesty’s words.

Musketeers do not blush. He is sure that’s in a rulebook somewhere.

“How do you know there’s a half dozen musketeers circling us?” Porthos asks, loud enough only for her to hear as he unpacks the food and wine in her saddle bags.

“Because I am not blind,” she whispers back. “Because I know you are on alert after Marguerite and because I know you. Thank you, Porthos, for convincing whoever had to be convinced that it was safe for me to be away from the palace.”

He dips his head and steps back as leans against the gentle horse and pulls off her lace stockings, revealing pale bare feet that he kissed not all that long ago. “Be careful swimming, Your Majesty,” he says in a more normal voice.

She promises that she will and steps forward to undo the buttons on Constance’s top layer. “You’ll save me if I’m not careful, won’t you?”

“If I must, but I’m from the Court of Miracles and we don’t swim there,” he says, knowing he is going to be teased about all this later. “D’Artagnan’s a country boy, much better swimmer than I am.”

Constance giggles, undoing the stays down the back of the Queen’s dress. “So as long as Her Majesty and I don’t drown at the same time, we’ll both be saved? Is that right, D’Artagnan?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to save her first so… nobody drown, alright?” he says, feeling more flustered than he likes. He nods when the women ask him to lay their clothes out on a dry spot while Porthos attends to the food. All of this should technically be Constance’s job but D’Artagnan wouldn’t be surprised if he and Porthos are invited to swim and eat. He’s still new enough to the Shadowhunter world and to the more complicated world of Louis XIII’s court that he does not know how to answer that.  


Porthos and D’Artagnan stand with their backs to the swimming hole. No man can watch the Queen of France swim and they both trust Constance to be on guard and alert them if Anne needs assistance. She never does. She and Constance play happily in the cool water, their laughter ringing out over the small clearing. And they get out after half an hour, tying cloaks around their necks so that they will be appropriately covered while their chemises dry. It’s still awkward for Porthos and D’Artagnan and where they allow their eyes to travel, more complicated because of the personal feelings they hold for their charges.

“Oh, would you two relax?” Anne says, reaching for a wedge of soft cheese Porthos left on the blanket. “It isn’t like I will report you to Captain Treville if you crack a smile or two.”

“We are your guards, Your Majesty,” D’Artagnan points out.

“But could you not also be my friend? There are so few people I trust here. I trust Porthos with my life and I know Athos and Aramis well enough to genuinely like them. I know you the least, Monsieur D’Artagnan, but if the famous Inseparables trust you, if Constance - my dearest friend - trusts and even loves you, I should like to have you for my friend.”

Porthos grins at the phrase Captain Treville coined because that is how they are known around France, though he does not know how the Queen knows it. He also grins at the way the newcomer to the three musketeers squirms under Anne’s words.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” D’Artagnan says, bowing just a little. “I would be honored to be counted among your friends. And I promise never to take advantage of such an honor in any way.”

Anne stares at him for a long moment before she gives a solemn nod, then bumps her shoulder against Constance’s and giggles. “You’re right! He is very adorable when he’s so serious and solemn.”

Porthos doesn’t even try not to laugh at the way the younger man blushes beet red.

“And you were also right about Porthos, dear Constance,” Anne continues, “he really is most handsome when he laughs.”

His laughter stops immediately and D’Artagnan stares at him open-mouthed. Porthos isn’t quite sure exactly what she had told Constance and he was absolutely sure D’Artagnan knows nothing and it seems best to keep it that way. On the other hand, if Queen Anne decided to tell Constance, or even D’Artagnan, he cannot stop her.

He doubts that she will say a word.  


Porthos and D’Artagnan move off a little way a few minutes later, having accepted Anne’s order to have bread and cheese with them and refusing her offer of staying close to the blankets for a dessert of wine and chocolates. The women deserve some privacy, not that either of them seem to watch what they say in front of their guards, guards who are their lovers.

D’Artagnan leans against a tree facing toward the Louvre and glances at Porthos. Such a strange day seems to lend itself to blunt, hopefully not dangerous questions. So he asks, “Is there something going on between you and… her? Nevermind, you won’t answer that, I know.”

Porthos considers answering. Then he considers not answering. And finally he decides that D’Artagnan can think what he likes, or possibly believe what Constance tells him. He crosses his arms over his chest and gestures toward where the horses are tied. “We should saddle them up and be ready to go before nightfall.”

He blows out a breath and steps away from the tree. Asking was worth a try. Porthos was never going to answer. And Constance would probably tell him whether he asked out not.

He was probably going to ask.

  
  


 


	15. Chapter 15

Treville is waiting for them as soon as they arrive at the garrison.

“What happened?” he asks worriedly.

“I don't know. But I think he's only drunk,” Athos answers as he stops walking. He's tired after the brief walk with an almost unconscious Aramis. Treville steps forward, grasping the medic and giving Athos some moment to catch his breath. When he finally can speak without panting between two words, he slides an arm behind Aramis and start walking again.

“Let me help,” Treville says without releasing the drunk musketeer.

“Let's bring him inside then,” Athos states.

They lay Aramis on the bed. Athos takes off his boots, and his weapons belt. He unbuttons the doublet, removing it with some problem. Aramis never stir. Treville helps him removing the shirt, propping Aramis up against him while Athos slides it off. Aramis mumbles during the process but his eyes remain closed. Once the shirt is discarded, Athos can see what Milady had said to him. A huge bruise is forming on Aramis' left side. He lightly touches the ribs under the matted skin and a moan of pain escapes Aramis' mouth.

“Hurts,” he murmurs.

“I know, but I don't think they're broken,” Athos explains even if Aramis doesn't seem coherent enough to understand what he's saying. Treville stands up, propping Aramis on the pillows and retrieves the bandages and the salve. He helps Athos bind them and then he leaves, knowing that Aramis is in good hands.

“Where are Porthos and D'Artagnan?” Athos asks when the Captain is at the door.

“At the Palace. The Queen wanted a picnic and they're both requested,” he answers.

Satisfied Athos nods, proceeding to remove the dirt and the sweat from Aramis face with a wet cloth. There is a bruise on his cheek that reflected the one on his side and tells that Milady was right. He brushes Aramis hair away from his face, running his hand through it, relaxing at the sight of his brother safe in his bed.

\---------------------

Aramis’ moans reaches him and he opens his eyes. His brother is thrashing and tossing on the bed, muttering in Spanish and French, his face covered in sweat.

Athos reaches him, stroking his face trying to soothe him back to sleep.

“It's everything alright. You're home, you're safe,” he whispers. He doesn't need to know what Aramis is dreaming to reassure him.

Aramis leans against his hand, seeking its warmth. Athos knows that when Aramis is like this, with these kind of nightmares, the only thing that can reassure him it's something, or better someone, warm near him. He take off his doublet and his boots, sliding next to Aramis in the bed. As soon as he's under the covers, Aramis leans completely against him, exhaling a deep sigh at the warm.

“Sleep, Aramis. I'll be here when you wake up,” he whispers, tightening his grip on him.  
\---------------------

When he opens his eyes again, Aramis is sprawled on his chest, his face hidden in the crook of his neck, and he's sleeping soundly. But there's someone else in the room.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Or better, good afternoon,” Porthos whispers, smiling at the view in front of him.

“What time...?” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes.

“It's mid afternoon,” Porthos answers. Athos nods, rubbing a hand on Aramis' back.

“What happened?” Porthos asks after some minutes in silence.

“D'Artagnan asked him about Savoy, he got angry and left. Milady brought him back. He was drunk and miserable,” he explains.

“He is injured too,” Porthos adds.

“Yes, only some bruises, nothing serious,” Athos confirms. He knows with the bond, the two parabatai can feel if the other is injured or not. And he knows that if Aramis’ injuries were worse Porthos would be angry and distressed, and in pain too.

“I know, I know. I need to go. Take care of him while I'm away, alright?” he says leaving his two brothers in the bed together.

“Always,” Athos whispers, closing his eyes again. He doesn't go to sleep again, he's comfortable enough with Aramis against him, but he's hungry too. He knows that sooner or later he'll need to move his brother away and search for food. But for now he'll enjoy the moment.

“He's in love with her.” It's only a whisper but Athos smiles when he notices Aramis is awake. “Who?” he asks.

“Porthos,” the medic whispers. “With the Queen,” he adds after a moment.

“Are you serious?” Athos asks, looking at the disheveled hair brushing his neck.

“Yes, very serious,” Aramis says.

“And you know it because...” Athos wonders if the bond is so strong that parabatai know when the other is in love or not.

“Because I know him, and you too can see it in his eyes,” Aramis explains. So it’s not a parabatai thing. Good to know.

“Athos?” Aramis calls him after some minutes.

“Yes?” he says.

“My head hurts. A lot. And I'm hungry,” Aramis confesses.

“It's because you drank a lot last night. Why don't we see if Serge left something for us to eat?” he offers, smiling.

“Let's go.” It's Aramis answer.

\-------------------

“Isn’t this dangerous?” D’Artagnan asks as he and Constance walk through the curving streets of Montmartre in the dusky shadows of Sacre-Coeur. “You’re not a fully trained Shadowhunter and you’re responding to an anonymous summons? This seems like a bad idea.”

“You are a fully trained Shadowhunter,” she retorts, gripping her weapons belt more in frustration of his overprotectiveness than in fear. “Can you not protect me?”

He sighs, realizing that he does not want to have this argument with her again. “I’m sorry, Constance. I know you can protect yourself and I am glad that you asked me to come with you.”

She smiles and walks closer to him. “Apology accepted. And I thank you for coming with me without telling Captain Treville. Though, in my defense, the message did specifically ask for the two of us.”

“Was it from a Downworlder?” D’Artagnan doesn’t mind going and he doesn’t mind being summoned but he suspects that she does know who the mysterious summons came from and he wishes she would tell him so he wasn’t walking into a situation blind. On the other hand, he trusts her so that shouldn’t really be an issue. But it somehow is.

“Yes.”

He sighs when that is her only answer.

“You haven’t asked me what I expected you to ask,” she says after a moment of silence. “About Queen Anne and Porthos?”

“I can’t gossip about the Queen,” he blurts out, “that’s probably treason, Constance.”

She shakes her head, red curls escaping from her bun. “No, it’s Court. Everyone gossips at Court and, since you and the other boys spend half your time gossiping about Rochefort and the King, it only stands to reason that you should gossip about the Queen when you’re with one of her ladies-in-waiting.”

He doubts this but, to his dismay, he was curious about the way Porthos seemed to blush whenever the Queen spoke to him and the way she seemed to like teasing him. “Fine. Gossip. Go ahead.”

“They slept together.”

D’Artagnan almost walks into a peddler’s cart piled high with pots and pans. “I did not need to know that, Constance! How am I supposed to look Porthos in the eye? I have to avoid him for the rest of my life.”

“Good thing you’re Athos’ parabatai, then,” she laughs before sensing the total seriousness in his words. “Calm down, D’Artagnan. Don’t you think he expected me to tell you about it? Men always expect women to gossip about who is in love with who.”

“In love with?!” he splutters.

Constance shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I promise I will not ever tell you anything that Her Majesty has not given me permission to tell you. Does that make it better?”

“A little,” he sighs, touching her elbow to guide her out of the way of an oncoming horse and cart. “Just to be clear, though, please do not ever ask me to play the go-between Porthos and the Queen.”

“I won’t, not personally,” she promises, “but what if she asks me to go through you?”

D’Artagnan is beginning to think he can never, ever win. “Then I have to, don’t I?”

Laughing, she shrugs and turns down an alley small enough that the cart that almost ran her down would never fit. “This is the place. Whoever summoned us must be straight ahead.”

“Or straight behind you,” a voice purrs from the shadows.

“Magnus Bane” Constance exclaims, spinning to hug the warlock dressed in a velvet and brocade jacket more fit for the Louvre than the alleys of Montmartre. “Why are you following us if you sent the message to meet us here?”

“Lurking in the shadows does not become me,” he says with a shrug, returning the hug and winking at a disconcerted D’Artagnan. “Also, when Downworlders lurk in the shadows, Shadowhunters tend to pounce. Better to blend in with the crowd and follow my friends. And before you get your smallclothes in a knot, Monsieur D’Artagnan, I do have what you will surely agree is an excellent reason for asking you to met me.”

D’Artagnan rolls his eyes as Constance laughs. “And what is that reason?”

Magnus shakes his head. “Patience, my little Shadowhunter. Answer a question for me and I will give you the reason.”

“Or I don’t have to take your information at all,” he counters.

“Ask the question,” Constance says before an argument can start, “perhaps I can answer it so D’Artagnan doesn’t have to do it and risk breaking some oath he thinks he took.”

D’Artagnan scowls as Magnus asks his question. “Athos,” he says with a sly smile. “Exactly how strong is his romance with Aramis?”

The Shadowhunter makes intelligible spluttering noises again, this time because he was totally caught off guard, and Constance smirks. “They will both deny a romance,” she tells Magnus, “but I suggest you let it grow.”

Magnus sighs and shrugs. “Can’t blame a lonely warlock for trying. Anyway, let’s go talk about the idiot bringing yin fen into Paris.”

D’Artagnan is so startled by the question and answer that it takes him a minute to settle on what Magnus said last and then another couple shakes of his head before he focuses on his Shadowhunter duties. The yin fen is important. Athos being in love with Aramis… D’Artagnan isn’t sure he wants that to be important.

\---------------------

Athos doesn't think that the best remedy for a hangover is to drink more but Aramis doesn't want to stay in the garrison waiting for Porthos so they go search for a tavern that is already open. They have to walk to the outskirts of Paris to find one and for the whole trip Athos is feeling observed. Aramis tries to tell him that is one of the cons of not have his parabatai with him but Athos assures him it's not that and it's not paranoia either. Aramis laughs at that.

Athos strangely doesn't drink too much, instead he cradles his glass of wine for the whole evening, watching carefully every mundane, shadowhunter or downworlder who enter the tavern.

When Aramis has enough, in Athos' opinion, they leave, and walk for a while. They don't talk, enjoying the comfortable silence between them, and they walk so close that when Athos sees Aramis fall beside him, it's a shock. He doesn't have time to extract his sword or to figure out what’s happening because he feels a stabbing pain piercing his head and then darkness.


	16. Chapter 16

D’Artagnan nearly collapses on the way to the warehouse where Magnus says the distributor of the yin fen can be found. He nearly collapses under a sharp pain in his shoulder that builds until it feels like his body is being cracked in half. Constance catches his arm and steadies him, her eyes finding Magnus in the growing darkness.

“Where is his rune?” the warlock demands, and seeing the young musketeer grasping at his shoulder, he pulls his coat and shirt away. “Something happened to your parabatai.”

“Is he dead?” Constance says.

“I’m a warlock, not a fortune teller,” Magnus mutters. “The coloring, though, means Athos at least in grave danger. D’Artagnan, if you can pull yourself together, I think we can find out where he is.”

He squares his shoulders, the pain still there but something constant and manageable, and nods. “How?”

“The yin fen dealer. I know he’s dealing the drugs but Downworlder gossip says he’s also in the employ of Rochefort. Given all that we know about his plans, it stands to reason the good lord might be behind an attack on the musketeers, especially the Comte de la Fere.”

D’Artagnan blinks. “The Comte de la…”

“Fere.” Magnus sighs impatiently. “Athos is the Comte de la Fere. Rochefort knows this.”

“Does Captain Treville know? How do you know?” he demands.

“No idea and how I know is not relevant to the possible grave danger your parabatai at this moment, or has the pain faded from your shoulder that much?” He flicks D’Artagnan’s shirt aside again. “No, it’s still an angry red color. Grave danger still in effect.”

Unhappy at being put in his place by a warlock, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why, he pushes that to the back of his mind as well. “Fine. Let’s go find the yin fen dealer.”

  
They arrive at the crumbling warehouse a few minutes later. A warlock with curling horns and deep purple skin opens the door, his skin paling to a dull lavender when he sees Magnus. “High Warlock Bane… I didn’t… to what do I owe this… honor… sir? I didn’t expect you.”

“Of course not,” Magnus says, breezing past him and into the gloomy warehouse. “Why expect the warlock who banned the import and sale of yin fen by warlocks into Paris to visit your distribution center?”

The warlock laughs nervously, wringing his six-fingered hands together. “Yin fen?!” he squeaks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! And you bring a Nephilim and a half-breed to my home! I am offended, sir!”

“And guilty,” he says, sounding bored - and a little deadly to D’Artagnan. He lifts a packaged block of white powder from a table and spins to face the warlock he knew D’Artagnan and Constance were watching closely. “You may be offended but you are also extremely guilty. The second is far, far more important than the first.”

The guilty warlock winced. “What is my punishment, High Warlock Bane? I won’t beg for my life.”

“But you’ll lie about your crimes. Interesting choices, my friend.” He turns and faces his two companions, continuing only when the both nod in support of what he’s doing, even though they don’t know what it is. “We require information. I believe you can provide it. If you do, I will make your punishment less severe.”

“Ask your questions.”

Magnus waits a minute before asking the question, wanting to make the warlock who disobeyed him uncomfortable. “Is Rochefort targeting anyone in particular at the moment?” He waves his hand to silence D’Artagnan’s protest at the vague question.

The warlock nods. “Nobles. You know that.”

“In particular,” Magnus repeats.

“The Comte de la Fere.”

“Who is?”

“The Musketeer Athos.”

Magnus claps his hands together. “I was right! He is the Comte de la Fere.”

D’Artagnan growls a little. “You said you knew that.”

“To help you get going to find him. You’re welcome, musketeer.” He turns back to the warlock. “Tell me where Athos is and I’ll only banish you from Paris. Pending an official and permanent ban by the Spiral Labyrinth. Of course.”

The purple warlock seems to weigh his options before clearly deciding he’d rather deal with Magnus and a ban, and Magnus telling the Spiral Labyrinth he cooperated, and opening his mouth to speak.

And then he dissolves into flames and ash.

“By the Angel,” D’Artagnan breathes in shock, watching as the flames spread to the mounds of yin fen in the warehouse.

“A Greater Demon placed a spell on him for Rochefort,” Magnus says, pulling them both backward and out into the street, only briefly impressed that D’Artagnan’s already got the annoying Nephilim phrases memorized. “We have to get out of here because Rochefort is probably on his way, or he’s at least sending demons.”

D’Artagnan doesn’t have to be told twice and the three of them race to the garrison.

Porthos is waiting at the entrance, his hand over his hipbone, rubbing it

“Aramis was with Athos,” Constance blurts out, touching his arm. “You two go with Magnus now. I’ll tell Captain Treville what happened at the warehouse and we’ll follow you.”

Nobody is quite sure she can give orders like that but they follow them, stopping only long enough for Magnus to accept a piece of cloth that belongs to Aramis from Porthos and try to track him. Constance hurries up the stairs to Treville’s office and bursts in without knocking, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see the man she loves run out of the garrison.

\-------------------------------------------------

The pain is excruciating. Athos groans, eyes closed, touching his head for the source of the pain, finding a long gash on the back. He feels nauseous, and he knows as soon as he opens his eyes he'll throw up the wine and everything he had eaten the day before. Or at least what he thinks was the day before.

A sudden thought occurs to him when he thinks about the tavern and, trying to keep at bay the contents of his stomach, he finally opens his eyes. He is in what seems a large and dark room, with no windows or any kind of light and he's propped up against a wall. He has his hands and feet free so whoever put him here it doesn't think he can escape. He waits to adjust to the darkness and then he tries to distinguish what there is in the room. There's nothing important but some big boxes and some sacks.

But something catches his eyes. A form on the floor near him. He approaches it carefully and when he sees what it is he swallows.

Aramis is lying on the floor, unconscious. Athos touches his head searching for a bump or gash and when he finds it a groan escapes Aramis' lips.

“Aramis, wake up, please,” he pleads. His brother seems to not hear him so Athos does the only thing he can think of. He touches lightly the bump. Another groan from Aramis.

“Please, Aramis, open your eyes. I need to know you're here with me,” he tries again. Nothing. So he tries something else. He shakes Aramis, calling for him.

“Now you're making me worry,” he says at last when everything he tried didn't work.

A groan and a mumbling is all he gets in reply.

“Now, would you be so kind to open your eyes for me?” he asks.

“Why... so... formal?” Aramis asks, between long breaths, very still and eyes closed.

“I like to be polite,” he answers, happy to see his friend awake.

“How many bottle of wine did I drink last night? Because I don't think my head hurt like this when I woke up,” the medic states.

“I don't think it's the wine. Someone hit and kidnapped us when we were returning to the garrison,” Athos explains, helping Aramis sitting up.

He sees the other pales visibly once propped up against the wall.

“Breath through your nose, Aramis,” he orders.

“I think I'm the medic, not you, Athos,” Aramis answers when the nausea recedes. “Where are we?” he asks.

“I don't know. All I see are walls and boxes,” Athos replies, keeping an hand on Aramis shoulder.

“If the others aren't occupied with their lovely women I think they already know we are in danger,” Aramis explains, showing the parabatai rune.

“I hope so. For now I think we're stuck here,” Athos says, sitting beside Aramis.

“Not for long. At least one of you, will see the light in the near future.” A voice comes from the door of the room.

The light coming from the doorway blind them so they don't see who is talking, but a sense of deja vu settles on Athos. He can swear he heard that voice somewhere.

“Rochefort,” Aramis hisses, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Musketeers,” the count sneers. “Or I should say Shadowhunters,” he adds. He approaches them and when they finally adjust to the light they can see the man perfectly.

“Take him,” he says pointing to Athos. “This one is only a collateral damage. Kill him and throw him in the Seine,” he orders.

“No!” Aramis shouts grasping at Athos. Two men take Athos and tear him off from Aramis.

“It's time for the Comte De La Fere to suffer,” Rochefort sneers, seeing the look of astonishment on Aramis' face.

Athos tries to free himself, screaming at Aramis that everything will be alright and Porthos and D'Artagnan will free them soon. But he's still struggling and screaming when the door closed behind him.

\---------------------

He doesn't know how much time has passed when the guards throw him in the room he shared with Aramis. His shoulders, arms and hands hurt like hell and he's thirsty and tired. He hoped his friend was still alive but Rochefort said that his guards got rid of him as soon as Athos was in the other room. So now he only want to curl up and cry.

“Athos?” a whispers comes from a corner.

“'Mis?” he whispers too with a hoarse voice.

“I thought you were dead,” the medic says, appearing from the shadows.

“I was told YOU were dead,” Athos says, still curled on the ground.

“They kicked me, and hit me but they let me live,” he says, crouching in front of his brother. Athos sees the bruises on Aramis' skin and all he want to do now is kill those bastards.

“I'm alright,” Aramis reassures him, running an hand in the other's hair. “It's you I'm worried about,” he adds, looking how Athos keeps his arms near his body.

“Strappado,” he says as explanation. Aramis growls and with delicate moves he props Athos against the wall.

“Let me see,” he says working on the torn shirt.

“I'm sorry,” Athos says after some minutes in silence.

“It's not your fault,” Aramis replies, touching the bruised skin.

“It is. I should say to you who I was,” he says. “I should say that I'm the Comte De La Fere. Rochefort wanted me from the beginning,”.

“You didn't tell us because you wanted to protect us. And anyway, when we joined the Musketeers we left the old life for a new one,” Aramis explains.

“And now my older life crashes in the new life and it's all my fault,” Athos states.

Aramis now is taking Athos face in his and looks him in the eyes. “No, it's Rochefort's fault. He's mad and he wants all of us dead. So stop thinking it's you, because it isn't.”

“But it's my fault you are here with me,” he tries again.

“No, even that it's not your fault. It's mine. I got caught up in the memories and put myself in this mess,” the medic says not leaving Athos' face. “And I'm glad I'm stuck here with you, because I need to tell you something, before it's too late.” he sit down next to Athos. He takes a deep breath and speaks again. “I know you think I like Porthos a lot, but it's not true. My heart is taken for a long time now, and if we'll die here I need to tell you that I'm in love with you,” Aramis confesses, before sitting and look straight ahead.

“Aramis, look at me,” Athos whispers. To hell with everything. If Rochefort will kill them he need to confess everything. Even that he's in love with Aramis from the first time he saw him. Aramis looks at him shyly and, putting aside the agonizing pain, Athos lift his hands, taking the other face and kiss him.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are near the end of our story!

 The tracking rune burns like hell on Porthos’ skin. He had to teach D'Artagnan to draw it so he didn’t make some mistake and even when he finally can master it, D'Artagnan is painfully slow, so the pain is more sharp. But he needs to do it if they want to find Aramis and Athos. So he tries to bear it.

“Done,” the boy says, putting aside the stele. With that Porthos relaxes, transforming the pain in concentration.

Darkness. Boxes. Sacks. A door. Stairs. Blood. Bruises. Ropes.

He comes back with an intake of breath.

“Calm, Porthos. Deep breaths,” Magnus commands next to him.

“I...” he starts. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I didn't see anything.”

D'Artagnan brings him a glass of water he drinks in one sip. “There's nothing that could help us to locate them. They're somewhere well hidden,” he explains. He says what he saw but even Magnus agrees that they don't have clues.

“You said that it seems like a basement, right? What about a house?” Constance proposes.

“Because there aren't a lot of houses in Paris,” Porthos says sarcastically.

“Yes, but I don't think Rochefort would choose a random one,” she replies.

“I heard An... the Queen saying something about a property near the limits of the city,” Porthos tells them.

“It's rather far from everything, so he doesn't need to be vigilant about strangers bothering him. And he can come and go with no problem,” D'Artagnan says.

“So we start from there?” Magnus asks. Three pair of eyes look at him, surprised. “What? Do you think I will let you go without a warlock who watches your back?”.

“No, no, we thank you for your help but I don't know if Captain Treville has the money to pay you,” Porthos confesses.

“I don't do this for money. I do it because I want Rochefort locked up in some forgotten cell. And because I like you,” he says, crossing his arms and looking away.

“So we have a plan?” D'Artagnan asks.

“We have a plan,” Porthos replies.

\---------------------

The plan is more complicated than they thought so when they arrive at the house just outside Paris, they find a bunch of guards waiting for them and ready to fight.

Magnus is a big help for them because he blocks every demon that appears from nowhere. And when Porthos throws a sword to him, he finds that the warlock is a good swordsman too.

Even Constance is a good fighter. She is paired with D'Artagnan, and Porthos sees that the boy is improving, thanks to their lessons, but Constance has it in her veins. Maybe it's the fairy blood in her or the fact she's training for more time than him, but she could be a great musketeer, if only she were a man.

“Porthos!” Magnus exclaims, warning him. He turns, facing one of the guards. He's big, almost as big as Porthos, and menacing, and the musketeer has some problem getting rid of him. He can't use seraph blades on a mundane so he opts for his rapier. He throws the blade to Magnus, who is fighting with a demon, and extracts his sword in one swift motion. The guard blocks almost every hit from Porthos, but the Shadowhunter is more trained, quick and light on his feet and the guard doesn't see the main gauche until it's too late. He's on the ground in a matter of seconds.

“You alright?” D'Artagnan asks, approaching Porthos from behind.

“Yes, this one was tough. You alright?” he replies, turning and seeing that the guards still alive are running away and they're alone.

“Yes, we're good,” Constance says, her face bearing a nasty bruise. He nods at them. “Let's go inside and save our brothers,” he adds, heading for the door.

There's nobody in the house. It's completely empty, and dark. Porthos knows that Aramis is not there because from what he saw thanking to the tracking rune where his brothers are has not windows and the stairs only go up so he leads the other to the door he thinks takes to the basement.

There are only three guards at the end of the stairs. They are in front of a door, like they are there to protect something, or someone. Porthos, D'Artagnan and Magnus discharge them immediately and Porthos uses his strength to tear down the heavy door. Once down he stops the others and he step inside, needing some time to adjust to the darkness. There are boxes and sacks like he saw and there's something more. In a corner there are some cloths, too big to be other sacks. He approaches carefully and when he's is steps away from it he stops.

Athos is propped up against the wall, his legs stretched in front of him and his hands in Aramis hair. His parabatai is curled against their brother, his head in Athos' lap and to Porthos he seems asleep.

“Porthos?” Athos asks, surprised when he sees the figure in front of him.

“It's me,” he says reducing the distance between them and crouching down.

“He's asleep, not unconscious,” his brother explains.

“I can see. And you?” he says, smiling.

“Tired, and my arms hurt, but I'm happy to see you, my friend,” Athos replies, smiling.

“Rochefort?” the big musketeer asks.

“He fled when he heard there were Shadowhunters outside. He ordered the men to guard our door and run away,” Athos explains, still running his fingers in Aramis' hair.

“Good. We'll defeat him another time. What about we go home?” he proposes, smiling. He's still thinking there is something strange in the scene in front of him. But now it's not the time or the place to ask about it.

“I think it's a good idea,” Athos answers. He bends over Aramis, calling him quietly. The musketeer murmurs something, with his eyes still closed and Athos calls him again. “'Mis, Porthos is here, we’re going home. So please wake up, because I can't carry you,”.

“Porthos?” Aramis asks drowsy.

“Yes, I'm here and I'll bring you home,” he says, smiling.

“I know you'd find us,” Aramis says, finally more awake. He stands up with some difficulty and, when he's upright, Porthos sees he's limping too.

“Nothing to worry about. Only a little bit battered,” the medic explains when he notices the look in his parabatai eyes. He crouches, motioning Porthos to do the same and after explaining what happened they help Athos stand.

Together they cross the basement and return to the others waiting for them outside the room.

D'Artagnan throws himself at Athos receiving a hiss and a groan from his parabatai.

“I thought you were dead,” he says, releasing him and looking at his brother's face.

“Believe me when I say you'd know if he was dead,” Aramis states interrupting them.

“I'm not dead, but I'd prefer if you wouldn't squeeze me,” Athos says, grimacing.

“What happened?” D'Artagnan asks worried.

“I don't think it's the right moment to explain. Why don't we go home? It will be time to recount the events,” Magnus steps in between the Shadowhunters.

“I think you are right. Let's go,” Constance says, leading them upstairs.

Aramis pass an arm around Athos back, leaning against him so they can support each other. Porthos smiles, knowing exactly what happened in there.

\-----------------------------

Aramis suspects that Porthos made a report to the Queen, though he wonders if his brother-in-arms would have mentioned Rochefort’s connection. He suspects this because one of the Court physicians has been at the garrison, tending to he and Athos since they got back last night. How else could the doctor’s presence be explained? He supposes he could ask but he decides to lay quietly and hope the man goes away so he can sleep.

The doctor finally tells Treville, Porthos, and D’Artagnan that he needs rest for at least three days and then he leaves.

Aramis wonders if it was all a dream. He wonders if maybe he was bitten by a demon during his torture and maybe venom is in his blood, making him imagine the things he believes happened after he was kidnapped. It seems unlikely, since a mundane doctor attended to him and since the Silent Brothers are not attending to him. Still, though, to believe that the feelings he has long held hidden are the same ones Athos feels for him seems too good to be true.

He falls asleep toward dawn, dreaming fevered dreams of a life he probably could never have with Athos that merged with the nightmarish scenes from Savoy. And he wakes with a start when Porthos accidentally drops a pitcher of water with a clatter.

“Sorry, Aramis,” his parabatai says, grabbing the pitcher and setting in on a table before sitting on a stool beside his brother’s bed. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Aramis shrugs it off, his body aching at the movement. “Was there any water left in that pitcher?”

There wasn’t, and Porthos hurries out of the room to get some.

His goal of being alone for the moment accomplished, Aramis carefully rolls onto his less bruised side and blinks into the sunlight that falls on the bed across the room. “Athos?”

“Mmm,” the other man sighs, turning onto his side. “How are you, ‘Mis?”

“A bit worse for wear but I’ll survive,” he admits, knowing Athos will not accept a lie and will see it right away. “How are you?”

“More than a bit worse for wear,” he admits, knowing that Aramis will see a lie right away and not accept it for a moment, “but I’ll survive.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Mm-hmm. I had to. I thought D’Artagnan was going to drug me if I didn’t,” he says, giving a soft, pained laugh. “That boy would not calm down. Or go away.”

Aramis shakes his head and tucks a hand under his pillow. “Now the both of you know what it is to be a parabatai to another.”

Athos hums in agreement. “Yes. Seeing him like that, I’d better keep him out of trouble so I don’t have to go through it.”

Unable to disagree because he has experienced Porthos being injured, he blurts out what’s on his mind instead. “What happened last night… in that cellar… was it real?”

“Did I kiss you?”

“Yes. That.”

“I kissed you.”

Aramis sits up a little. “Were you delirious from pain?”

Athos is worse off, his body battered by torture, but he sits up too. It’s important that he be able to look Aramis in the eye when he says what he needs to say. Waiting until a jab of pain passes, he takes a breath. “No. I was not delirious. I don’t regret it, ‘Mis. I don’t regret kissing you.”

He can hardly believe what he hears. Now he really worries he might have demon poison in him. It’s all too good to be true. But he wants to believe it, so badly, so he lets himself believe it. “I don’t regret kissing you either. I’ve wanted to,” he admits slowly, afraid still of being rejected, “for a long time. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t,” Athos repeats. “This isn’t supposed to happen, it’s not in the rules. I suppose it only makes sense that we admit it all when we are certain death is all that awaits us.”

“But still no regrets?”

“None.”

It’s all the time they have just then because Porthos returns with a fresh pitcher of cool water and D’Artagnan is right behind him with fresh bandages and ice that he’s somehow managed to find for Athos. Aramis resigns himself to the intrusion of their parabatais, feeling a little bit better because Athos has such an attentive one. It is, after all, one thing to love someone as a brother in arms, as someone you will die for and someone whose heart beats in time with yours during battle.

It is an entirely different thing to love someone as another part of your own soul, as someone you feel like you will die without and someone who holds your heart in their hands.

Athos needs both. Aramis knows that.

With D’Artagnan’s help, maybe he can keep Athos out of trouble and alive. For both their sakes.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Athos stays in the infirmary for three days. His arms and back are bothering him. The pain is diminished but he still doesn't have strength. He needs several pillows to be propped up and turning in the bed is uncomfortable. But there is a bright sight in all of this - Aramis is with him. They place their beds near so if one of them need something the other is next to him.

Treville comes everyday to see if they are well or need something and D'Artagnan and Porthos keep them company during supper and dinner, if they're not busy with their lovely women or aren't working. For the rest of the time they're alone. And if this would have happened some months ago, Athos would be terrified, not knowing what to say or what to do, not used to making conversation, especially with Aramis. But now they use the free time to really get to know each other, their background, their family. Athos doesn't bring out the Comte De La Fere subject and Aramis doesn't ask. The only clue Athos has that Aramis, sooner or later, wants to know the truth is something the medic says the first night in the infirmary. “If you want tell me, I'm here to listen,”. He nods and closes his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

It's Aramis who starts the kissing. He greets him with a kiss the first morning, before someone crashes in there and ruins their plan.

“Good morning,” he says, smiling at a surprised Athos.

“Good morning to you,” he replies, trying not to freak out.

“I thought we better start like this, if you agree,” Aramis explains, not so sure suddenly.

“No, no, it's alright. I want to. It's only... I'm not used to these shows of affection,” he confesses.

Aramis nods, smiling. “We can take it slow, if you want. We have time. And you can make the first move if you think I'm too much brash,” he says.

“No, please. I already made the first move so, I'm in your hands. And I like it,” Athos tells him. He really likes Aramis waking him with a kiss. It makes the day bearable. And he loves those lips. He feels himself blushing and he hopes Aramis doesn't notice. A look and a little laugh from the musketeer in front of him and he knows he failed.

“I like it when you blush. It make you more human,” Aramis says, smiling.

“I don't...” he tries, blushing harder. Aramis laughs again and Athos reacts. He takes Aramis face in his hands and kisses him. The medic doesn't have time to collect himself and he's still shocked when Porthos and D'Artagnan bring them breakfast.

\---------------------

When the physician declares they can leave the infirmary everyone gives a sigh of relief. The two musketeers will be on light duty for another week at least but they can return to their lodgings.

“And I'd prefer there be someone near you in case of an emergency,” the doctor says.

“Aramis can stay with me,” Porthos prompts.

“Thank you, brother, but I need my bed right now,” Aramis replies.

“We can watch each other. My lodgings are near yours,” Athos proposes before D'Artagnan would ask him to share his room with him.

“I think it's settled then. I want you here tomorrow morning so you aren't alone all day and we can talk if you need to change something about your arrangement,” Treville says, escorting the physician outside.

Porthos and D'Artagnan offer to go with them but they refuse.

“I don't think it's a good idea. And if Rochefort decides to finish the job?” Porthos says, once they are in the courtyard.

“We are musketeers and Shadowhunters, we can take care of ourselves. Even if we are a little battered,” Athos says, grimacing when he puts his doublet on.

“And we are more vigilant now. He doesn't take us by surprise,” Aramis continues.

“As you wish, but we'll come to check on you two, later,” D'Artagnan promises, still upset about the kidnapping.

“Alright,” Athos grants. They say their goodbyes and leave the garrison together.

\---------------------

“So... See you tomorrow?” Aramis says in front of Athos’ lodgings. He knows Aramis doesn't want to leave him and Athos is reluctant to let Aramis walk to his lodgings alone. He also knows that Aramis won’t sleep well after the encounter with Rochefort.

“I don't think it's a good idea we split tonight. And if one of us need help? It's better to stay together,” he says, searching for an excuse to not part with Aramis.

“I have a bottle of wine that needs our full attention,” Aramis says, a smile spreading on his face. He turns and lead the way.

The house is dark and cold, and a shiver runs down Aramis back.

“Why don't you light the candles while I'll prepare the fire?” Aramis asks. Athos starts to protest but when Aramis shows him the logs, he nods and gets to work. He searches for the bottle of wine Aramis promised and two glass and sit at the table.

When the fire is going Aramis sits beside him, sipping his wine. They drink in a comfortable silence for awhile and then Aramis stands up extending his hand toward Athos. “I think it's time for bed. We still need a lot of sleep and you'd be uncomfortable in that chair.”

Athos takes his hand and lifts himself up. He groans as soon as he is upright, his back still stiff and sore. “Yes, I'd to like lay on a bed right now,”.

Aramis leads him to his bed, helping him to undress. When he has his hand on Athos' breeches the swordsman stops him.

“Don't,” he whispers.

“Athos, you'll be more comfortable if I take these off,” Aramis explains. He knows that, but he doesn't think that there will be a comfortable position if Aramis goes on. And his back and arms won't be the only parts of his body sore and stiff.

Aramis notices because he smiles, and he takes off the breeches more slowly than before. Athos groans again but this time not in pain, but in pleasure, when Aramis brushes his fingers on the laces of the smalls.

“Please,” he whispers.

“Please what?” Aramis asks, running his fingers on Athos' clothed thighs.

“Please, take them off too. I don't want to go slow. I waited too long to be with you,” Athos confesses. He wants Aramis and he wants him now.

“Alright, why don't we lay down and I can make you more relaxed?” Aramis says, his face close to Athos'.

Athos lays down, taking the place near the wall, the cold coming from it takes away some of the warmth of his back. He watches Aramis strips slowly, leaving his clothes scattered on the floor, and joining him on the bed, stretches on his side, facing him.

Athos extends a hand toward Aramis, caressing a fading bruise on his cheek and Aramis moans.

“Kiss me,” Aramis whispers, his eyes closed. Athos gets closer and gives him a chaste kiss. Aramis grips his neck and deepens it, mouths and tongues in a battle for dominance. It's so strange that it's simple. They end it when both of them need to breathe. Aramis smiles, giving him small pecks between ragged breaths, and Athos strokes his arm.

They kiss again and again, gripping hair and sheets, scratching skin, until Aramis rubs against him and moans. Athos doesn't think straight at this point, his only thought Aramis. He caresses his way down his lover’s body, until he finds what he searched for. He grips and strokes it, eliciting another moan from Aramis. He's so focused on giving pleasure that he doesn't notice Aramis hand on him at first. He groans when Aramis strokes him and he bites his neck preventing a long curse escaping his lips.

Aramis grips both of them, keeping Athos' hand under his and keep rubbing and stroking.

Athos comes first, his mouth and teeth still on Aramis' neck. It takes only a moment for Aramis to come too, Athos' name on his lips.

“'Mis?” Athos calls, his voice raw, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes?” Aramis asks, caressing Athos chest, his head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing his lover’s head.

“I love you too,” the musketeer replies, kissing the skin where Athos' heart is.

They fall asleep like that, in each other's arms, their legs tangled, the sheet covering almost nothing and a smile on their face.

\---------------------------------------

Porthos and D’Artagnan are playing chess in the late morning sunlight that falls on the garrison courtyard while Constance tries to teach Serge the value of adding spices other than heaping piles of salt to the food he cooks for the Shadowhunters. Serge remains unconvinced while her lover and her oldest friend remain highly amused by the argument by the bossy young woman and the stubborn old man.

It’s lucky that they’re laughing when Aramis and Athos finally emerge or their parabatais would think they were the ones being laughed at.

Not that they aren’t snickering like schoolboys over the noises Constance told them to pretend they didn’t hear the night before.

“Finally figured it out, did you?” Porthos blurts out, failing miserably at covering a laugh with a cough, only to have it turn into a full-fledged belly laugh. He holds up his hand as Athos opens his mouth. “And don’t say you that you don’t know what I’m talking about, brother. You know.”

“Be that as it may,” Athos says through clenched teeth, “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, brother.”

Porthos is trying too hard not to laugh and can’t speak so D’Artagnan does. “He doesn’t mean he’s glad you figured out how to have sex,” he says as laughter shakes his own shoulders, “he means he’s glad you figured out that you wanted to have sex.”

Constance hits her boyfriend on the shoulder with Serge’s biggest, heaviest spoon. “Stop it, both of you.”

“Thank you, Constance,” Aramis says as D’Artagnan winces, a little less bothered by the attention than Athos but wanting to present a united front with him. Though that they were heard through the walls is bothersome, though not surprising since the walls at their apartment are thin, and apparently their parabatai found that out when they came to check on them.

She smiles and steps toward them, spoon still in her hand in case either of the other two misbehave again. “You’re welcome, Aramis. What Porthos and D’Artagnan are actually trying, and failing, to say is that we are very happy that the two of you have opened your minds to the love that all of us could see was in your hearts for a very long time. We think it is wonderful that you have found happiness and love with each other because you both deserve it so very much.”

Athos leans forward and kisses her cheek.

“What she said,” Porthos agrees, with an almost straight face.

“I’m not kissing you for that,” Athos mutters.

“Only Aramis,” his parabatai finishes, losing the battle with being stoic as he laughed again. To make things right, he stands up and hugs each of them. “You do know I am happy, don’t you?”

Rolling his eyes because it is expected, Athos nods as Aramis grins at his own parabatai. “Yes, I know, and thank you.”

A hush falls over the happy group as a woman enters the garrison courtyard moments later, her long blonde hair curling around her and a wispy white dress clinging to her in such a way that it was clear she did not stand for wearing smallclothes and modest things against her skin. She casts an eye at each of the men in turn, and they squirm under her attention, before she steps up to Constance. “Constance Bonacieux?” she asks in a breathless soft voice.

She nods.

The woman, not much more than a girl, holds out a folded piece of parchment sealed with wax that’s stamped with an ornate seal Constance does not recognize. “A message my lady, Madame Bonacieux. I’m to wait and see if you have a response, madame.”

Constance holds the thick parchment in her hands and reads the neat, sloping handwriting aloud to the five Musketeers standing around her.

_Madame Bonacieux -_

_I write this letter to you because it concerns you most personally and because I believe you have a far cooler head than do the men around_ you, _because you are of Downworld as well._

_First, the messenger is a succubus. Yes. Please attempt to stop the Nephilim from killing her. She is too stupid to be a real threat and she is very useful to me. Remind them, if you will, that I am the leader of the Parisian vampires and it would not be wise to make me unhappy by killing my sweet but stupid succubus errand girl._

_Second, and this is the matter most personal to you, I offer my condolences on the death of Monsieur Bonacieux. I realize you do not know of his death and it is half of why I am writing. He returned to Court with Marie de Medici and her entourage. He died quickly and painlessly last night, an hour after dining with Rochefort and the Dowager Queen Marie._

_Marie de Medici is very ill._

_Comte de Rochefort is alive and well._

_Suspicious? Yes._

_Third, and this part should most certainly be shared with the Nephilim, after losing Athos and Aramis, Rochefort has accelerated his plan. I know few details of the plan, I suspect Captain Treville and his squad know more. What I do know is this, Rochefort has substituted approximately half of the mundane guards with Eidolon demons. He has changed the time the Red Guard exchanges one group for_ another, _and seems not to have given the commanders the same times. I suspect, with near certainty, that the last guard change of tonight will be when he moves_ against _King Louis and Queen Anne._

_I will let the Nephilim in through southwest garden gate at an hour to midnight._

_They can pay me later._

_Fourth, tell Olivier I am glad he is well._

_Yours, Milady de Winter_

Everything happens at once.

The succubus is forgotten.

Treville sounds the call to arms and Shadowhunter Musketeers flood from the barracks, pulling on full gear, and arming themselves with everything they can carry. They will not all come back but that stops no one from going.

The last thing that happens before the garrison is left deserted is that Treville sends Constance and D’Artagnan to the Court of Miracles to make sure that the werewolf pack leader, the Seelie Queen, and Magnus Bane are aware of the latest developments and whether or not they might help in the coming battle.

D’Artagnan goes, separating himself from his parabatai, because he knows that the three of them have fought together for a long time. Aramis will protect Athos.


	19. Chapter 19

Porthos is not happy that he’s been told to stay behind at the garden gate and wait for D’Artagnan and Constance to return with whatever force of Downworlders they were able to muster. He wants to be in the battle, fighting beside his parabatai and his brothers. So much of his training has been about following orders, though, and Captain Treville gave this order. Porthos will follow the order, as much as he’s itching to be anywhere else.

It doesn’t help that Milady de Winter is lurking just inside the gates. He isn’t a fan of vampires in general and he isn’t a fan of ones who were murderesses as mundanes and hurt Athos even more.

“I can wait for them by myself,” he tells her finally, tired of her staring at him like he’s a tasty meal, though maybe his imagination is getting the best of him. “You can go… do whatever you want to do. Feast on the victims of the battle or something.”

“I do not drink what I have not caught,” she sneers, as if this makes it all better. “How do you know I’m waiting with you, anyway? I may have my own business here.”

He narrows his eyes. “Do you?”

Milady shrugs in the shadowy torchlight. “That is not your business. In any case, I would think you want me here.”

“You would think wrong.”

She gestures toward a window on the other side of the courtyard. “The King and Queen, and of course the Dauphin, have taken refuge there. The King’s footman is a vampire. He will alert me, but only me, if Rochefort’s forces get close to ending the House of Bourbon and I will, if you wish, alert you so that you may dash off to rescue your lover and her husband.”

Porthos tries not to squirm at the realization that his involvement with Anna is not the secret he’d hoped it was. He can tell that Milady wants him to ask how she knows about it, so he does not ask that question. “Right,” he says instead. “That makes sense and I suppose we can tolerate each other that long.”

Milady raises an eyebrow but nods. “Yes, I suppose we can.”

They don’t have to do it for long because the two of them become five when D’Artagnan arrives with Constance and Magnus Bane just a few minutes later. Magnus explains that the Seelie Queen will not get involved but isn’t stopping her people from getting involved but that the werewolves have gone to the other side of the palace grounds. The warlock narrows his eyes at Milady. “So you have slithered back? The rumors are true.”

She smiles icily at him. “Camille sends her regards.”

“From hell?” he says with a wink.

“Bucharest.”

“Ah,” he says, “gone home to visit the originals, has she? Digging up Vlad to impale him this time? Maybe avenge his death?”

Milady rolls her eyes. “She will be most interested to know you now work willingly with the Nephilim.”

“Says the vampire standing her with a Nephilim and who warned the Nephilim about this attack by Rochefort.”

Porthos stomps his foot a bit like an angry little boy. “Will you two shut up? You can figure out who is worse at what later. Not now.”

Milady chuckles. “I thought you were going to ask us to please shut up. You were, weren’t you? But caught yourself. So polite for a Court of Miracles boy.”

He doesn’t ask how she knows that about him. He doesn’t care, not at the moment anyway. Not when a light flashes in the window Milady told him was where the vampire footman to the king would be, a ridiculous idea in itself though not really that surprising. “Is that your man?”

She shushes him and stares at the window as a series of lights flash on the metal sheet he is holding. Flashing a signal back, she turns to Porthos. “There is fighting on the secret stairs leading to the chambers. Red Guard soldiers are fighting demons. Mathieu hears the fighting but the royal family does not. The demons are close but you have a little time to make a quick plan, or rush blindly into a fight like the Nephilim usually do..”

“We’ve got to get them out of there,” D’Artagnan says, “but do we just march up the main stairs?”

Constance shakes her head. “I know another way, a secret passage built in 1207 that leads directly to the Church of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois. Could they be taken away safely from there?”

Porthos isn’t sure why he’s still sometimes surprised by her ability to strategize and fight. She’s save them more than once and now she’s come up with a way to save the House of Bourbon from Rochefort and his twisted plans for control and domination. “Yeah, they can. If we get them to the church, we can put them in a normal carriage and escort them to Fontainebleau. They’ll be safe there.” He pauses to think through the details, knowing that he is in charge because he has more experience than D'Artagnan and that is how it works when the Nephilim go to battle. He tries to think like Athos, though thinking of Athos and Aramis makes him uncomfortable because, except for the fact that his parabatai rune is still normal, he does not know what is happening to them. He shakes his head. “This is the plan - since the vampire footman is still in the chambers he and Milady de Winter will be in charge of securing the room for as long as possible, even after the King and his family are gone. Constance and Magnus will go to the main stairway and create some sort of distraction that will bring the demons. I’ll send a message to Treville to send you backup. D’Artagnan and I will take the King, the Queen, and the Dauphin to Versailles. Any questions?”

Milady holds up her hand. “She said she knew about the hidden passage to the church, not you. And wouldn’t the warlock be better at disguising the carriage and the King?”

“The Queen knows where the passage leads,” Constance says quickly. “She showed it to me.”

“And to the King, we’re Musketeers sworn to serve and protect him,” Porthos adds, “nothing more. He doesn’t know about the Shadow World, unless what’s his name the vampire spilled the secrets, and he won’t react well to being made to look like a peasant in a middle class carriage by a means of magic.”

“Well said,” Magnus agrees, already moving toward the doors, “now let’s get on with it.”

The grand staircase that led to the chambers of the royal family is empty as Magnus and Constance wait for the right moment to create the distraction, watching Milady swoop up the steps and be let into the right rooms by the vampire footman.

Porthos and D’Artagnan have to fight their way up the hidden stairs, seraph blades gleaming in the candlelit darkness as demons scream and burst around them, trusting that the vampires will prevent those at the top of the stairs from getting into the rooms where the King and his family are.

Milady surprises Porthos by opening the door only when he’s hissed his identity after the last demon is killed. She was true to her part in the plan.

She smirks smugly at the look of surprise on his face. “Dawn will come soon,” she tells him in a whisper as the King watches them wearily, seeming a little alarmed by the way D’Artagnan was wrapping the Queen in plain brown robes, “so Mathieu and I must go and end our assistance in this fight.”

Porthos nods. “Fine. Will you do one thing for me?”

She waits without answering.

“Tell Athos and Aramis we’ve taken them to Versailles.” He knows that vampires aren’t known for doing favors and he won’t pay her for this so he’s hoping she still has some loyalty or feeling for Athos.

His hopes prove true when she nods. “I will do that, if not as I leave then after the battle.”

He watches her go and turns to the King, bowing low before him. “We must evacuate you, Your Majesty, immediately.”

“To where?” Louis demands petulantly. “And just the two of you are evacuating us? Is it true that the Comte de la Rochefort has been plotting against me?”

“It is true, Your Majesty, but I haven’t got time to explain now. Because he is attacking, most of the Musketeers and Red Guard need to be in other places just now so D’Artagnan and I will lead you to Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois and then take you on to the Hunting Lodge in Versailles in a carriage.”

He narrows his dark eyes. “You really think this has a chance of a success?”

“We’ve got no other option, do we?” Queen Anne blurts out, throwing a brown robe around her husband’s shoulders. “We must keep the Dauphin safe and we must not let Rochefort steal the crown of France. You understand that, don’t you?”

Louis nods warily, scowling at the robe. “I do suppose disguises are necessary for a safe evacuation even if they smell like a horse has slept in them.”

Porthos almost rolls his eyes before he thinks better of it. “Your Majesty?” he says to the Queen. “Constance said you know the way to the church?”

Her eyes brighten as he speaks to her and she nods confidently. “I do. This way,” she says, pulling back a heavy velvet drape to reveal a hidden door. “I will lead.”

Louis splutters in protest. “You are evacuating us now? This is the job of the Musketeers. They must lead us through the palace and not through some murky passageway filled with sewage and rats.”

Porthos and D’Artagnan stand still and silent as the Queen stares open-mouthed at her husband. And then she blinks, lifting the Dauphin from his cradle and strapping him to her chest before draping the robes to cover him. “Do as you like, husband, but the Musketeers are officially The Queen’s Musketeers and they will take me and my son through murky passageways filled with sewage and rats if it means my son, our son, will be safe.”

Louis does not contradict his wife, stepping into the passageway behind D’Artagnan who follows the Queen while Porthos closes the door behind them.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Athos and Aramis make their way into the Palace from one of the secret passages hidden in the gardens. Most of the musketeers are evacuating the nobles while the two Shadowhunters and Treville run through the empty corridors toward the throne room. Athos spots Magnus and Constance on the staircase and he sees the moment Magnus notices him, nodding and grinning. He nods too, knowing that they'll take care of the matter.

“They are our diversion,” Aramis whispers, raising his seraph blade and pistol.

“Yes, I only hope Rochefort will be there alone,” he replies, leaving the main staircase behind and heading for the throne room. He stops just outside of it, a familiar figure leaning against the wall.

“I'm here only to deliver a message,” Milady says, looking her nails as if she were bored. She doesn't have time to say anything more because a roar resounds around them and the door explodes, sending all of them sprawled in the corridor and against the opposite wall.

“There it goes our surprise,” Aramis exclaims as soon as he can stand. He helps Athos upright and he checks if Treville and Milady are alright before hearing a laugh coming from the room.

“Musketeers, I was waiting for you,” Rochefort snarls from his spot on the throne. He sits comfortably across the royal chair, the King's crown on his head. He has some servants on their knees in front of him, and a lot of demons around the room.

Athos wonders how so many demons can stand still and no kill the servants or them but a hiss from Aramis clarifies his doubt. “Yin Fen.”

“What are you waiting for? I'm not going to eat you. But maybe my friends here could,” Rochefort says.

They enter the room, seraph blades and swords raised. The demons screech and snarl, but otherwise staying where they are.

“Give me the Comte De La Fere and I might let you live,” the mad man says.

Aramis put himself in front of Athos, his weapons ready. “If you want him, come and claim him.”

They hear fingers snap and the demons attack at the same time. Athos has only time to extract his seraph blades when the demon in front of him goes for his throat. Aramis reacts instantly and slices through its body. He turns in time to see a Moloch demon behind his brother. He throw the blade, hitting it in its head. Aramis nods in thanks and turns, killing another demon. He distances himself from Athos, killing every demon in his path, his precision and agility are astonishing. Aramis, during a fight, is not a heir of angels, he's a God. The God of War. And Athos can't take his eyes off him. Not when the only thought he has is that he loves that man. Every bit of him.

Something slick glides on his doublet and he has to avert his gaze from Aramis. A Raum has one of his tentacles around his arm, ready to inject the venom. He tries to withdraw his arm while he grasps the first thing he has nearby, his pistol. He knows he can't kill the demon with it but at least he would have time to extract his seraph blade and kill it.

When the demon is finally dissolved, Athos turns toward the throne inclined to kill most of the demons and reach Rochefort. When even the last demon on his path disappears in a smoky cloud, Athos hears someone screaming in agony from the other end of the room.

Another Raum has its tentacles around Milady's body and it's tightening them. She doesn't have weapons to use and Athos is watching frozen the scene in front of him. Something catches his eyes and he sees Aramis runs toward his ex-wife, beheading a Moloch demon standing between them and throwing his seraph blade, slicing the tentacles and freeing the vampire.

“Wonderful! I see you are amazing with the demons. Let's see if you can manage with mundanes too,” Rochefort exclaims, once the clouds disappear. Athos throws the only surviving seraph blade and unsheathes his rapier, pointing it toward the man sprawled on the throne.

“Well, well, well a deadly confrontation against the Comte de La Fere,” the mad man snarls, finally rising from his seat.

“You'll have to deal with me too,” Aramis exclaims, flanking Athos, his rapier unsheathed in front of him. Athos notices how the arrival of his brother doesn't diminish the smile on Rochefort's face.

“Your PARABATAI has come in your rescue. Shall we see if is it true that if one die, the other die too?” Rochefort says, approaching them and brandishing his sword toward Aramis. Athos blocks him and send him back against the dais. The Comte laughs, raising again, attacking first one and then the other, without inflicting real damage. Until Aramis puts his foot wrong and slips on the floor. Rochefort cuts his cheek with the head of his sword and he takes the chance to lift it and kill the musketeer. But a bang reverberates in the quiet room and the madman  looks at a column of smoke rising from the pistol aimed at him. There's a hole in his stomach where the bullet gets into him. Rochefort stumbles backward until he find Athos' body against his own.

“Did you want a duel. Let's duel!” the musketeer shouts, positioning himself for the fight.  
Rochefort has a hand on his stomach, pressing against the bloodied wound, the other tight around the hilt of his sword and the smile no longer on his face. And now there is only them. The Comte de La Fere and the Comte de Rochefort. Athos, as always, proves himself as  the best swordsman in all France and hits repeatedly and in strategic points Rochefort, he prevails, putting the other to his knees.

Pointing his rapier against Rochefort's throat, he bends, looking the former Comte in the eyes. “Aramis is not my parabatai, he's the man I love.” And with a flourish he inflicts the coup de grace.

Aramis runs to him, hugging the musketeer and sinking his face in Athos' neck. “I love you too,” he whispers, placing a small kiss on the skin.

Athos breaths deeply, smiling when Aramis tighten his arms around him.

“Let's go home,” he says, lifting both from the floor.

Milady is standing near the door, looking quizzically at them. When Aramis tries to open his mouth and explain she raises a hand. “I don't want to know,” she says, stepping into the corridor.

Treville smiles at them, producing a handkerchief for Aramis' cheek, and follows the vampire outside the throne room.

When they reach Milady, she's ranting about the sun and how she always find herself deep in Shadowhunters business and Athos smiles, knowing his ex wife loves meddle in their business.

Before she slips in one of the secret passages the Louvre has, he stops her. “Did you have a message for us?”


	21. Chapter 21

“So, what happened in Savoy?” D'Artagnan asks that night, once they are finally back together at the garrison.

Porthos inhales deeply, raising his eyes from the cup of wine in front of him and looking at Aramis. The musketeer is looking at the boy, his hand clenching and unclenching around Athos'.

“I don't think it's a good idea D'Artagnan,” Porthos says, noticing Aramis' discomfort.

“No, it's alright. After all what happened the boy needs to know,” Aramis says, taking a deep breath. “But I warn you, it's not a pleasant story and I still don't remember most of it,” he adds, gripping tightly Athos' hand in his.

“Five years ago I was at the Monte Carlo Institute, when the news of multiple attacks from werewolves in Savoy arrived. The head of our institute sent me and other twenty-one Shadowhunters to investigate. We didn't encounter troubles during the journey and when we arrived we went from village to village to ask about it. No one saw anything, no werewolves, no trail, no dead bodies and no one went missing during that period. Only one man told us he saw movement at the edges of the woods. He pointed out the direction and we followed what he said. We entered the woods in time to see the first snowflakes falling from the sky. We knew we wouldn't find anything about the werewolves with that weather so we camped in the first meadow we found. Of course we reduced the watches, secure that we weren't in danger.

I remember that at some point I lay down under the tent I shared with Marsac. He was meant to be my parabatai once that mission was complete. We planned everything, who would be our witnesses, where to put the mark. Everything.

Then I heard screams, shots, and blades against blades. I ran out of the tent with Marsac behind me, my pistol and my rapier ready, and what I saw took my breath away. Our brothers were slaughtered, dragged away from their tent and killed like animals. Who was still alive was fighting for his life against an army. They weren't demons, vampires or werewolves for that I'm sure. They were mundane. I don't remember their uniform so I don't know from where they came, but I remember a man, I think he was in charge, coming toward me, his sword raised, and he wounded me on my side. I fought back, wounding him in the back but then someone hit me in the head and I remember only my hand soaked in blood before I lost consciousness.

When I woke up again I was propped up against a tree, far from our camp, and Marsac next to me, telling me to not move or speak. The next thing I knew I was alone, Marsac was gone and his pauldron left in the snow. I don't know how much time I spent there and I don't remember how I went back to the camp. But I remember the corpses, the crows feasting on them, and the snow soaked in blood. I didn't see any werewolf in the time I was there.

I know I ended sat against a tree, the snow still falling and my weapons ready, waiting for some kind of foe that never showed.

Porthos found me like that some days later.” Aramis finishes telling him. He avoids looking at D'Artagnan, the knuckles of his hand white from the grip he has on Athos'. Porthos pours some wine in the glass Aramis has in front of him, encouraging his parabatai to drink it all. He then turns to D'Artagnan and picks the story from where Aramis ended it.

“The news of werewolves out of control in the Savoy's woods reached Paris and Treville sent some of us to investigate. I was still a recruit but he sent me there knowing that I had more experience than others. We travelled there, finding only corpses and no traces of werewolves. We found out they were Shadowhunters so we decided to give them a proper burial. While the others loaded some of our fallen brothers on the carts we had with us, I approached the only Shadowhunter that seemed be on watch when he died. Once in front of him I crouched, inclined to remove the weapons he still had on him, when I noticed he was still alive. He was barely breathing but he was alive. I took off my cloak and wrap him in. I lifted and moved him where we built a fire. He didn't shiver, so I knew there was something wrong about it. I found other cloaks and blankets, wrapping them around him. By the time the musketeers had finished, the only survivor started shivering, and moaning. I brought him with me on my horse, until we found a village. We spend three days there, trying to help him recover enough to bring him with us back in Paris, alive,” Porthos explains, toying with his own glass.

“You saved me that day, and I knew that you would be a great parabatai,” Aramis says, smiling at his brother. He fills his glass and Porthos' and after raises it, he drinks the wine.

D'Artagnan is still watching the two of them when Athos clears his throat.

“I need to apologize to you. I should have told you from the start who I was. But revealing that I was the Comte de La Fére meant bringing back memories I didn't want to remember and have to try and deal with. I come from one of the most powerful families of the Shadow World, the Lightwoods, and my parents were always proud of who we are. And they wanted the best for me and my brother. But I hated all of that.

Especially when I met Anne, Milady, I thought she was my chance to escape. She was a mundane and this could bring dishonor to our family. But my mother came out with an idea. Anne should be Ascended. Everyone would have what they wanted. But Thomas, my brother, found out who she really was, a thief, with connections in the worst part of the Downworld. So he blackmailed her, telling her to break with me, forget about the Ascension, and leave La Fére, or he would told everything to the rest of the family and worse, to the Clave. They fought and she killed him. My parent were so shocked and in mourning that I was the only one who could and would uphold the law. So I hanged her.

After that, there was nothing that could persuade me to stay there, not even my parents. I left everything behind, even my title. The Comte de La Fére died that day with his wife,” he says, taking a long sip of his wine.

“Only that she isn't dead,” D'Artagnan says grateful that Athos finally opened up about his past. He knows his parabatai will tell more to Aramis because they’re together now, but it makes him smile that Athos reveals bad memories to all of them.

“She is a vampire so, actually, she is dead,” Porthos corrects him, smiling when he see their younger deep in thought.

“You are so fussy!” D'Artagnan exclaims. “Is it why nobody knows who you were?” he asks Athos.

“Treville was the only one, because he needed proof that I was a Shadowhunter. I'm the only child and if Rochefort killed the heir of La Fére, the Lightwood name would be lost forever. From destroying one of the most ancient family of the Shadow World to annihilate the Clave it's a short step,” he explains.

“It's why Treville has almost forced you to have a parabatai. First, because with a parabatai you'd have someone always with you, a brother in arm you could rely on and, second, because only common soldiers can have a parabatai,” Aramis concludes for him.

“Yes, I think it was his idea from the beginning,” Athos replies.

“I wonder what your parents will think. First a mundane and now a common musketeer,” D'Artagnan says, deep in thought, after a couple of minutes passed in a companionable silence.

“I don't think they'll be angry, seeing that I come from one of those families,” Aramis says, smiling at the boy.

“What?” Athos and D'Artagnan exclaim together. Both of them look at Porthos, who seems the only one to know, or at least suspects it.

“Fairchild.” It's the only thing Aramis says.

“Why you didn't tell me?” Athos asks, looking at his lover.

“Because there wasn't time and a way to tell you. And because it's a stupid rule. Parabatai doesn't make you weak. It makes you stronger”.


	22. Chapter 22

“Dura lex, sed lex.”

Aramis looks up from his cup of wine and shakes his head. “That’s not answer, brother.”

Porthos is aware it is not an answer, or at least not an honest and full answer. But it has always been his experience that saying what you’re supposed to say first is always a good policy when you’re asked a question with a much more complicated answer. That way you’ve at least done what the rules say you should do before you break them. “How do you even know?” he asks gruffly, not bothered that they know but uneasy about it for reasons he doesn’t understand. “How long have you known?”

“My parabatai is a gossip,” Athos says with a smirk. “He didn’t give details but he did tell us something about a picnic that you were requested to attend.”

D’Artagnan cringes as Porthos makes a noise of dismay. He’d expected that Athos and Aramis would tell that he told at some point, he just wishes it wasn’t now while he’s sitting next to the large, lethal man.

Porthos resists the urge to punch the boy in the shoulder, knowing that Constance will hit him when she finds out - and she hits hard. “So what? I guarded Her Majesty on a picnic at her request. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Aramis laughs, shielding his eyes against the late afternoon sun as they sit in the garrison courtyard. “On the face of it, no. On the truth of it, yes. It does mean something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Porthos, that we are not blind,” Athos smiles over the top of his own wine as he leans back against the wall. “We see that you were requested many times by Her Majesty and that you have never asked Treville to send someone in your place. So… is it because you cannot say no to the queen or because you don’t want to say no to your queen? That’s what it means.”

Porthos folds his arms on the table and buries his face in them, breathing in the familiar scents of wine, wood, dirt, and sun. He’d been trying to work out in his mind for awhile and, if he’s honest with himself, he’s been wanting to talk to his brothers about it. Now that they want to talk, though, it seems so much more complicated. Explaining feels is not something Shadowhunters are trained to do and growing up in the Court of Miracles, it had always been best to pretend feelings and emotions didn’t exist because they could too easily be trampled. “Can’t it be both?” he asks, and immediately shakes his head as he sits back up. “No, never mind. I know it can’t. I don’t want to say no to her. I don’t want her to have to ask for anything. I want to be what she needs and what she wants and I don’t want that to be wrong. Damn it!”

The other three lean a little bit away from him, totally not used to hearing such an impassioned speech from the normal gruff and to the point man.

It is Aramis who answers first, softly asking, “Who do you think is judging you, Porthos? Who is deciding that what you are doing, that what you are feeling is wrong?”

“I go back to my first answer,” he says.

Aramis shrugs. “I’m sure there isn’t a law forbidding you to be with the queen.”

“She is married.”

“To the House of Bourbon,” D’Artagnan points out. “This probably borders on treason but if ever there was a family who saw a law as a challenge instead of a rule, it is them. I don’t see why two adults with a full understanding of what they’re doing and what it might mean can’t do what what they want to do.”

Athos points at his parabatai. “It’s ironic coming from the boy who fell in love with another man’s wife but… listen to the boy who fell in love with another man’s wife.”

“Or to the man who had his wife hung, with good reason,” D’Artagnan adds quickly, “and then fell in love with another man but admit it for the Angel knows how long.” He worries that he’s gone too far but Athos gives him an appreciative nod.

“He’s right,” Athos says as his eyes fall on Aramis, who is using his knife to cut fleurs de lis into the rough wood of the tabletop. “We have, the four of us, pledged to keep law and order in this world. We didn’t sign away our souls, not really. We’ve all fallen in love with people someone will think we shouldn’t have fallen in love with. I don’t like to think that makes us bad people. I can’t think that way. I can’t survive and think that way. Can you, Porthos?”

Porthos shakes his head, feeling better for having his brothers around him and supporting him. “Alright, then, my brothers… I’ve fallen in love with a girl named Anna.” He calls her that instead of using her title because it is not the Queen of France that he loves, it is a girl from Spain named Anna. “I think she might love me too.”

He can’t help but smile as they all congratulate him.

\----------

The foursome returns to the table and to the conversation a little while later, after collecting bowls of hearty Boeuf Bourguignon from Serge for their supper. None of them is quite sure how the table tucked under the eave beside the stairs has become theirs but none of the others in the garrison ever sit there unless they’ve been invited by one of the four. None of them minds that they can be a little bit separate from the rest.

“Alright, D’Artagnan,” Athos says as they pass around a loaf of bread to dunk in their stew, “we’ve all told our stories. It’s your turn now.”

The youngest soldier at the table fidgets uncomfortably. “What is there to tell? You all know about me. I came here late. I came here sort of by accident and chance. I fell in love with a married girl. I found a parabatai. That’s my story.”

Porthos rolls his eyes as he swallows a mouthful of stew. “You’re supposed to give a few more details than that. At least brag up something.”

“Nothing to brag about,” he says, his gaze wandering over the shadowed garrison. “We Branwells always have been modest.”

“Whichever Branwell told you that was lying,” Aramis says lightly, “though I hadn’t known you are a Branwell but it really does fit.”

D’Artagnan narrows his eyes, unsure how to take this. His father hid who he was, what he was. It was Treville who told him about the Branwells. He wasn’t going to tell them it was Treville because he didn’t think Treville lied about the modesty. He couldn’t remember Treville’s exact words but he got the idea that the Branwell family stayed out of the spotlight compared to other Nephilim families. That was a sort of modesty. And his father had hid. “Fit in a good way?” he asks after a prolonged silence.

“Mm-hmm. In my experience, Branwells are… unexpected. You try to predict what they’ll do, and they’ll do the opposite.”

“Usually better than someone else,” Porthos adds. “You’re a lot like that, D’Artagnan. It’s a good thing. You’re a credit to the name.”

He looks at the man sitting beside him curiously. “They said the names of their families. What’s yours?”

“He’s a Graymark,” Athos says before Porthos can answer, “and he pretty much fits that as well. The Graymarks are sort of the troublemakers of the Shadowhunters. Not one of the oldest, most established families but essential to our collective existence.”

Porthos snorts with laughter but doesn’t disagree with anything that’s been said about his family, and about him. “Back to the boy, Athos, we’re talking about him now.”

D’Artagnan sighs, wishing they didn’t have to talk about him.  
“Easy question,” Aramis says, clearly taking pity on him. “Any regrets?”

“That’s the furthest thing from an easy questions,” he protests before smiling, “but no, I don’t have any regrets.”

“Not going to run off to the south and have beautiful babies with Constance?” Athos asks, giving a rare smile as he teases his parabatai.

D’Artagnan shakes his head firmly. “No! How could I ever think of taking my possible future children away from their uncles and protectors?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Porthos says as they each raise their glasses. When order is restored, he leans on the table and glances at the man who had been a boy just a few months ago. “How is Constance?”

“Good.” She is good, though he knows she feels guilty about being good because she’s supposed to be in mourning. He feels guilty about being impatient for the proper period of mourning to end so he can see her openly. “I mean… as good as can be.”

They all nod in understanding, eating quietly for a few minutes before Athos speaks. “Is she with her family, his family?”

“The palace, actually. She offered to stay before Queen Anne offered to let her go, so I think the queen is letting her stay so she can… hide that she’s not exactly in mourning. If that makes sense.”

“So you’ve been given permission to see her at the palace when you like?” Aramis asks, not quite grinning about it.

Wishing he wasn’t blushing, D’Artagnan nods. “Actually, I should get going. The Queen sent a messenger that I should be at the Tuileries at twilight.”

“Then you should go,” Athos says with total conviction. “Give Constance our love.”

He promises that he will, standing to go only to be stopped by the other three coming up to him, swords in hand and offering him his.

“We need to teach you something,” Aramis says as they lay one sword on top of the other.

D’Artagnan adds his last.

Athos looks at each of them in turn. “Uno per tutti, tutti per uno,” he says in a deep, even voice that carries much meaning.

One for all, all for one.


	23. Epilogue

In the following months life returns to normal, almost.

The Royal family is back at the Palace, the throne room cleaned and restructured after the whole mess with Rochefort and the demons. Magnus put his services at Treville's request, when he asked the warlock for an oblivion spell for the King, so he'll not remember anything about it.

A week later Magnus shows up again, telling them the still fugitive demons are now under control, he and other warlocks worked together to send them back into the Void.

“Are you here to tell us only this?” Porthos asks when Magnus has finished.

“No, I'm also here as ambassador. The Downworld chose me to tell you that if you ever need their help, and mine too, you could address them, and they will give you what you need,” he says, watching the four men in front of him. Their reply is cut off when Constance enters in the garrison's courtyard, smiling at D'Artagnan when she approaches him.

“Madame Bonacieux,” Magnus bows to her.

“I'm Madame Bonacieux no more,” she replies, a smile on her lips.

“Good, because I really didn't like him. And for the news I carry you need to be free,” the warlock states.

“What news?” Constance and D'Artagnan ask together.

“I spoke with the Clave and they agree with me that your role in the Rochefort's mess was as essential as the musketeers, so they give you permission to train and become a fully active Shadowhunter,” he announces, smiling at the bewildered expression on Constance's face.

“Me? A Shadowhunter?” she stammers, not knowing what to say.

“Yes. You'll be the first half fairy to become a Shadowhunter,” he answers. He's taken aback when she throws herself at him, hugging him tightly, a flow of “thank yous” leaving her mouth.

\------------------

Constance becomes a Shadowhunter and a musketeer, thanks to the Queen who recommends her to her husband, some months later. The other men at the garrison welcome her without many problems, since she defeated every one of them during her training. She still need to beat Athos, Porthos and Aramis, but now, she has time.

\------------------------------

Milday de Winter returns to Paris, again, when no one expects her.

Athos rides inside the garrison's courtyard after a mission on the King's behalf when he sees her. She lingers on the far side of the kitchen wall, away from the light and she clearly waits for him.

He dismounts, leaving Roger to the stable boy's care and approaches her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, skeptic.

“Good evening to you, husband,” Milady replies, her fangs shining in the setting sun.

“Good evening. Now, what do you want from me?” he asks.

“I'm here because I want to settle our business once and for all. I know what happened between us can never be repaired, but at least we can live without hurting each other more. I know this is not what you had planned for us, for you, but I think it's all destiny. If I didn't do what I did, you'll never be a Shadowhunter, a musketeer, and I’d never be this. At first I hated what I am but now I know it's what I really am. Like this I can be myself, as you can be as musketeer. This is what we really are. And I know you are happy now, with that Shadowhunter, and I'm glad you are.”

Athos looks at her speechless. He doesn't expect this. He tries to say something but she stops him. “And I, somehow, am happy too. I know Magnus already told you that the Downworld will collaborate with the Shadowhunters in the future, but I think I need to strengthen it with my whole support and the vampire clan I lead. So for any reason, summon me.” And with that, she disappears leaving Athos alone.

\------------------------------

It's nearly Christmas, when the mourning period has almost ended, that D'Artagnan decides to do something. He already bought a present for Constance but he thinks it's not enough, not for what he has in mind. He thinks to ask for Athos' advice but give up almost immediately, knowing his parabatai’s record is not so happy, so he tell Aramis, knowing his brother will help him finding the right present. They spend the following days around the city, searching every shop until, on Christmas eve, on the route back to the garrison, D'Artagnan finds it.

The following night, when there are only few musketeers around the garrison, and his brothers are busy with each other, or the Queen, so D'Artagnan leads Constance outside, the ground and every surface covered in snow, and propose to her, showing the gift he bought only the previous night. A ring.

\------------------------------

“You're dismissed. And I don't want to see you for the next week,” Treville says to all of them after a big mission some weeks later. They are tired and in need of a full night’s of sleep, but once they are outside the Captain’s office they linger on the stairs, deciding what to do, and how to spend all that free time.

Porthos reveals that, strangely, the King has granted some sort of holiday for the Queen, and she'll spend the next few days in Versailles, almost alone. He'll be there to protect her in case someone would try to harm her.

D'Artagnan and Constance have a wedding to prepare, and they want to organize most of it during their week off.

Athos and Aramis don't have plans.

After bidding goodnight to the others, they retire to Aramis' lodgings, both of them lost in thought. Athos has something in mind but he doesn't know if Aramis will agree to it, so he keeps quiet for most of the night. Only when they are in bed, does he decide to propose it.

“What do you think if we spend this week outside Paris?” he asks, not sure if Aramis is still awake.

“It sounds good. Do you have somewhere in mind?” Aramis replies, a little bit sleepy.

“I was thinking to go to La Fére,” he whispers, unsure.

“I don't know if I need to be happy or worried about it, but it's okay. I can't wait to meet your parents,” Aramis says, this time more awake. “Are you alright with this?” he adds after a moment.

“Yes, I'm more than alright,” he says, closing his eyes and surrender to sleep.

\------------------

The next day they leave at dawn, eager to arrive at the estate before lunchtime. Athos passes the first part of the journey deep in thoughts and Aramis wants only to stop him and return to Paris. But Athos is determined to continue so they go on. Athos' mood changes as soon as they arrive in Pinon. Aramis notices the former Comte smiles more often when they encounter the people, greeting most of them by name. When they arrive at the estate, the news they were coming has already spread and they are greeted by Athos' parents. They welcome him in their house and in their family, knowing that their son has finally find the right person to pass his life with. Athos is finally happy.

 THE END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading our story! It was the first time we wrote one together and we did it because Skep loves Shadowhunters and Cordelia85 loves Musketeers. We met through a mutual love of Twilight (though we've never met because America and Italy are sadly not neighbors!) so we love fandoms and we fall hard for fandoms. We're so happy you fell for our unlikely crossover and we can't thank you enough for sticking with us and leaving lovely notes and still being here! Grazie mille!


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